Allegiance
by Zabbie Q
Summary: [Late London/revamp inspired] After that whole "Pumping Iron" fiasco, Wrench is willing to do whatever it takes to help Electra win the championship - even entering the race with an unlikely candidate.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: The London versions (both the original and the caboose-less revamp) are the only time Wrench participates in a race. Hence (in part) this premise.

* * *

"Remind me," Electra said tightly, his blue eyes moving from truck to truck like a death ray, "what do I pay each of you for?"

The four of them stood beneath the overhanging wires at the end of the track reserved for the superstar racer. Electra struck the most impressive figure of the bunch, glimmering in the white beams of the nearby lampposts like a star come down to earth. Ordinarily, Wrench would have taken the time to admire the way his tall Mohawk matched his red shoulder compartments or the way his blue lips popped out against the white-and-red streaks on his handsome face or the way his blue eyes could light a whole town when he smiled or even the way the machinery inside his wonderful brain sent out delicious wireless signals which her receiver detected when she was this close to him, but right then the repair truck would have given her entire tool collection to be anywhere else.

As if sensing her hidden distress, the laser-like gaze stopped on Wrench first. She resisted the urge to look away. "I am your repair truck," she replied respectfully, keeping her electronic voice even despite the sudden increase of her diesel-powered heartbeat, "and I carry a piece of your computer."

She was a short woman, a crane car made of metal and muscle, decked in reds and blues and silvers to match the electric engine before her, though Electra's level of fabulous fashion was still far from her forte. Still, he had given his much-coveted approval of tonight's appearance: a new flame-like hairstyle, cropped short; a wide red collar above her blue leotard, silver legs and springs, and apron-like panels hanging from the front and back of her belt which reflected her position as a certified repair truck - and as said repair truck, she had developed a proverbial tough skin from the many collisions and disasters she had seen over the years. However, the enraged blue eyes that bore into her now filled her with a dread which she had not felt since she had treated her first patient in mechanics school.

She expected a shock from the mechanisms in his hands which could send electricity into his opponents, but none came. Mercifully instead, that heated glare moved to the money truck beside her. "And you, Purse?" he demanded.

The short man bowed his well-groomed head, but his pale countenance visibly struggled to remain calm. "I am your money truck, sir," he answered. His electronic voice held a cultured cadence. "I handle your great wealth, manage your extensive estate, and have always shown the utmost loyalty - "

"Enough," Electra snapped, and the armored car fell silent, but he kept his brown head lowered, fidgeting with his red bow tie.

Two cars were absent from the electronic consist. Joule the dynamite truck had wisely hitched herself to that German racer, Ruhrgold the ICE, instead of returning to face Electra's wrath. Krupp the armaments truck had curiously not come with their train either, even though he probably had the least to fear from the locomotive.

That left Volta the freezer truck.

The dark-haired beauty met her lover's glower without a blink. As Electra's preferred car, she was easily the best dressed of the components. The lower half of her silky black hair had been bleached white and styled into a tall, snowy fan which showcased her status as both a freezer truck and a beautician. Her shoulder compartments and legs were painted a reflective black while her chest piece consisted of inverted blue triangles which rippled to a single white center like an archery target.

Volta smiled at the locomotive for a moment before answering. "I am your hairdresser," she said, calm as ever, "and your race partner, dearest. I also carry a piece of your computer."

 _Don't antagonize him_ , Wrench urged silently as a jolt shot through the electric's muscular frame, causing his blue arm to jump.

"And how long have I been training for tonight's race?" he demanded, his voice growing dangerous.

"Three years, my love."

The blue eyes narrowed further. "Then why," he growled, "did I just now see my own coach and my crew fraternizing with the one diesel engine I've spent my entire life preparing to defeat?"

Purse quickly spoke, "I didn't go, Elec - "

"Quiet, you," Electra snarled before he turned back to his freezer. "Explain yourself, Volta."

Volta's blue lips formed a coquettish smile. "What, jealous Oberon?"

In a flash he had gyrated his legs, screeching to a halt in front of her. " _Don't_ mock me, woman," he warned, pointing a gloved hand at her icing white face. "I'm starting to reach my limit with you."

Volta glanced at the silver wheels on the back of her black hands as if to inspect their polish. " _ **I**_ only went over to the handsome oaf because Wrench and Joule were already _so_ absorbed in him, darling."

Wrench's mechanical stomach dropped.

That sub-zero backstabber...

The pantograph concealed in the tall hair crackled with electricity as the locomotive spun to face the repair truck. "Well, Wrench?" he mocked. "Since you're so social today, please elaborate."

Wrench struggled to keep her expression politely neutral. "I... only wanted to observe. As a mechanic," she answered carefully. "You know I think highly of you."

"If that's observing, then what's your idea of engaging?" Electra demanded.

Wrench averted her eyes, choosing instead to study the crisscross design on her silver legs.

Even then she could not fully explain what had come over her mere minutes ago. She had seen Greaseball plenty of times on television. For the past three years, she had sat with Electra watching tapes of the champion's previous victories so that the electric engine could learn his weaknesses and develop a strategy. Electra had valued her input because Wrench had actually studied Greaseball's model back in school; the EMD E9s, once the spectacle of the Western rails, were now museum pieces in many parts. Greaseball himself was one of three that the Union Pacific still kept for parades and special occasions. Though he was obviously in top condition, he was still just a relic: nothing which could match the power and allure of Electra.

Then they had all been there in the Wilton Yard, surrounded by Electra's new audience as the superstar shone the brightest among all rolling stock. The electric engine had shown off his skills by using his magnetism first to pull a golden observation car with blonde curls toward him, showering her with his coveted attention before he had caused the rest of the vehicular spectators to orbit him like Saturn's moons. It had been a stunning victory - at least until the familiar diesel air horn had echoed across the hills.

Then Greaseball had been there, right in front of her - a living, breathing E9 who looked like he had just come out of the factory. Something inside Wrench had made her roll forward, wanting to study him, to put her hand on his rippling muscles to see if he was real, to get lost in the excitement over this celebrity. It had been like stumbling upon a lost species in a rain forest, and yet this specimen could gyrate his hips and flex his massive arms and smile and win championship after championship, year after year.

Then all of a sudden Joule had joined her to flirt with the mechanical Adonis - not much of a surprise there - but the final nail in the proverbial coffin had been when Volta had rolled up to run her manicured hands over the diesel's bare metal chest, flaunting her admiration while her electric lover sparked on the sidelines.

"I suppose," Wrench said at last, choosing to play to the young locomotive's ego, "you might call it a scientific curiosity for obsolete machinery. Your victory tonight means electric engines will be replacing diesels in this country. Might as well study them before they're all gone."

Another twitch went through Electra's body, and she looked up to see his painted jaw clench. "Maybe," he said through his teeth, glowering from one woman to the other, " _ **I**_ have too many obsolete machinery in my employ. Maybe I'll have to do some downsizing after the championship."

Wrench's diesel tank grew cold. "Electra - "

"Don't," he ordered. "Evidently, you must think being a repair truck makes you indispensable, Wrench, but I can make sure you never find work on the future electric lines if I choose." His eyes slid to Volta. "And you, my dear, will have trouble getting a job on a freight line today. Not much business for freezers. Maybe you could convert yourself to a baggage car and find work on a passenger train," he added nastily.

Volta's cold face could not conceal her grimace.

"But, sir," Purse interjected, taking a risky step toward the enraged diva, "it's mere minutes before the first elimination heat. You've spent so long training with Volta - "

Electra rounded on him. "Do you think I can't win with a new partner?" he demanded.

Purse's gray eyes filled with sudden horror. "Of course not, sir! You can do anything you put your mind to, sir!" he said in a rush, putting his palms together in a hurried _anjali mudra_. "I only meant - "

"Enough," Electra commanded, and the money truck fell silent, still making several deep bows. The engine tapped his painted chin, and when he spoke, it was in a sweet, mocking voice, "Purse, do you remember that fetching little observation car with the gold cabin and silver trim? Blonde curly hair?"

"Very clearly, sir," the money truck replied.

"He should, considering the spectacle you made of her," Volta said darkly, but Electra ignored her.

He waved a red hand at the money truck. "Find her and congratulate her. I have selected her to be my partner for the first heat."

"W-What do I tell her?" Purse asked, his electronic voice cracking.

Electra's eyes flicked to Volta, but he continued to speak to the money truck. "Tell her my coach has a headache - and that I think she's second to none."

Purse bobbed his head. "Y-Yes, Electra, but..." He swallowed noisily. "What if she already has a partner?"

Electra gave him a shark-like smile. "Then you're fired."

Purse's pale face seemed to grow whiter. "S-Sir - "

However, there was no mercy in the locomotive's stare. " _Why_ are you still here?"

Purse did not even bother giving a bow. He spun and sped off into the night, nearly derailing in his hurry.

Electra returned to Volta who stared back defiantly. He leaned down and spoke softly in her ear, but Wrench could still hear every word. "I may prefer you over coaches, but I can always replace you just like _that_ ," and he snapped his fingers beneath her white nose. "Try not to forget."

Volta pursed her lips, but she lowered her eyes.

"That's my girl," Electra smirked. Then his gorgeous eyes trailed to Wrench - and narrowed. "And you," he said coldly, "get out of my sight."

* * *

Wrench watched the first elimination heat from afar, finding a nice hill that overlooked the lower half of the mountainous track. The monitors above the audience gave a good view of the racers as they sped and swerved through the treacherously serpentine rails high above their heads.

Her diesel-powered heart quickened as she watched Electra zoom from curve to curve, and even in her apprehension, she could not help admiring the way the stadium lights glistened off his polished frame. Even with his blue helmet concealing his face, his whole look was a much better sight than Greaseball's yellow Union Pacific livery - or that red-and-white striped ensemble which Espresso the luxurious Settebello wore or the yellow-and-gray striped monstrosity sported by the record-holding bullet train, Nintendo.

Occasionally, the monitors would show the faces of the partners, who wore no masks, and Wrench found herself rooting for another piece of rolling stock - though the sentiment was more for his safety than for his partner to place in the final. It had been a complete surprise, but Krupp had rolled out in Track Three hitched behind the yellow-and-gray Shinkansen. In the three years Wrench had known the gray armaments truck, she had never seen him participate in so much as a practice trial. Krupp was a reserved man who spoke little of himself and did not seem to have much warm feeling for anyone outside of Electra and his entourage. Perhaps tonight he had broken tradition because he had wanted to avoid the train wreck waiting for them once Electra had his trucks alone.

Wrench gritted her teeth, feeling her diesel tank begin to boil as Electra sped along with his pretty new coach in tow. _Why did you do it, you moron?_ she fumed at herself. _Don't you know how lucky you are to be on HIS train?_

She had grown up on electric lines as a maintenance truck. Though diesel powered her crane, from the moment she had been able to stand on her wheels by herself, she had been trained to maintain electric tracks. Her work-truck parents and grandparents had served electric engines and their trains as had her aunts, uncles, and cousins. When she had made the decision to rise above the drudgery of track maintenance and become a repair truck - a mechanic for other rolling stock - it had been for electric vehicles that she had studied. Though the engines back home had made it clear that they considered her diesel tank a necessary evil, it was electricity which her generator produced, and it was electricity which ran through her wires. It was electricity which held her allegiance - and it was Electra, the champion of electricity, who held her heart. How could she have let herself get so carried away that she could publicly shame him with her betrayal?

She would tear off her brake shoes if it meant she could be in the heat with him right then. It seemed to have escaped Electra's memory that the golden carriage had been among Greaseball's gathered admirers, but even Wrench had to admit that she was his type: long curly hair, a fair visage with pink streaks which drew attention to blue eyes, and gold paneling trimmed with silver while pink and pearl-white paint lined her window-laced limbs.

However, good looks meant little in a race. The observation car (named Pearl, as Control had announced over the intercom) could not have been a day over six months. Though she kept her head when a fight broke out among the racers on the trestle, she did not have much strength in her white, hollow arms to ward off Electra's attackers, and her pretty face was spared a blow only because Espresso's yellow buffet car pulled her out of the way. Electra tried to send a jolt of electricity at Greaseball, but Pearl clutched him, causing him to hit the nearby lamppost instead and make it flicker. When the racers started forward again, Pearl's wobbling forced Electra to fall behind Greaseball. If only Electra had taken a better partner...

"If wishes were coaches, then hobos would ride," Wrench chided herself. Even if Electra had forgiven them, he would have been in there with Volta - prim, prissy, diesel-powered Volta who thought she was better than the rest of them. Occasionally - usually when he grew bored with Volta's airs - Electra raced with Joule, the dynamite truck with the wild hair and a tight red leotard. A few times he had branched away from his components and selected a lucky car for a casual competition, like a stylish magazine model or an athletic but extremely photogenic male truck, but among his computer Electra preferred those two ladies: Volta with the cool class and Joule with the feminine, animalistic appeal.

Wrench had just a tool box and a diesel tank.

She ran a hand through her short hair. Ordinarily, she wore her work helmet - the typical accessory of crane cars - but for race night she had chosen to sport the new wig she had purchased, an eye-catching number that was black at the back and shifted to red at the front, then orange, giving it an overall flame-like design. Without the crane extension, she resembled a flat car with a red operating booth around her neck - more like someone the electric superstar challenger would have in his employ.

"But he hired me because _I'm_ the best," she said through her teeth, resting her chin against her clenched fists. The other electrics had wanted him to take an unpowered tool car for his mechanic, but Electra had taken a chance on her because she was the first in her graduating class. Electra did not care if a truck used diesel: even he admitted that putting a pantograph on a freezer or a crane car was counterproductive. As long as they could serve him to the level that he deserved, he did not care if his employees spent part of their paychecks on fuel. That was what made him so amazing - and why Wrench could not imagine working for anyone else.

She adored Electra. Of course, everyone adored Electra. No one could ignore him once he switched on his magnetism, but Wrench knew that what she felt went beyond artificial affection or starstruck wonder. She had spent the greater part of three years in his presence. She knew the man he was when the cameras were off - the man who never failed to greet her in the morning; the man who came in for overhaul once a month and talked for hours with her about everything from music to her latest mechanical journal; the man who had taken her on a trip for her last birthday to spend the day in the city, just the two of them. Even though Electra had never made a move on her the way he had with Volta and Joule (or several other fancier trucks and coaches), she still valued each and every moment she had spent in his presence.

" _And now Electra takes it!_ "

Wrench was pulled out of her thoughts as Control's narration grew more excited. The racers sped down the steep grade back to the lower tracks. Electra and Greaseball were struggling to pull in front of the other, but they were too well-matched.

"C'mon, dearest," Wrench urged, clenching her hands. "C'mon!"

Suddenly, a yellow figure bolted from behind, and Wrench sat up with a jolt as Nintendo zoomed ahead of the pack.

" _Nintendo makes his play..._ " Control said dramatically, allowing for a pregnant pause.

...But Wrench could already see that something was not right as the Shinkansen charged for the final curve. Krupp must have seen it too because he released the bullet train and hurriedly grabbed the nearest truss structure to brake himself. Immediately, Nintendo zoomed off the track for the nearest hill - and went flying head-over-heels right over it.

" _He's overdone it!_ " Control shrieked. " _Nintendo crashes!_ "

The familiar sound of denting metal reverberated off the mountainside. In the next blink - so quick Wrench almost missed it - the remaining three figures flew across the finish line.

" _Winner of Heat One: Greaseball the diesel! With Electra in second place! Greaseball and Electra have a place in the final!_ "

The words echoed in Wrench's ears, drowning out the thunderous applause of the audience. She numbly watched as the monitors showed an instant replay. In the momentary distraction of Nintendo's prowess and defeat, Greaseball had pulled a hand's-breadth further than Electra.

"Second place," she said aloud, and her electronic voice sounded hollow to her ears.

Not first. Not a dead heat.

The electric superstar had placed second behind the diesel champion.

* * *

She felt the signal from Krupp's computer piece before she even saw him, and she followed it in time to see her friend coming off the track which the marshals used. Despite the tension in her chest, she was glad to see him in one piece.

The armaments truck gave a small nod as she rolled near. Krupp was a tall man, almost the same height as a locomotive. Wrench knew he had been a piece of head-end equipment on a German passenger train once, probably a baggage car, but now the male coach carried Electra's collection of guns and bullets. Despite being a member of Electra's entourage the longest, he was dressed simply in a bodyguard's uniform made of unpainted metal panels and wore sunglasses on his gray face.

"You're a sight for sore eyes," Wrench observed, giving him a sweeping glance. Her expert eyes could not spot so much as a scuff on his polished frame. "Since when do _you_ go racing?"

Krupp shrugged. "Since when do I get the chance to pair up with a bullet train?" he replied. Despite his European background, he spoke with no trace of an accent - though perhaps that was covered by his electronic voice, which was deeper than the other components'.

Wrench gave him a smirk. "You realize he doesn't have any actual bullets, right?"

Though it was hard to tell with his dark shades, she was sure he rolled his eyes. "Are you going to inspect Electra?" he asked.

The small smile she had formed instantly died. "I don't think he wants to see me right now."

"Probably not," he agreed, and she heard him give a small scoff. "Volta would've been a better partner than that coach."

"Try not to tell him that," she warned, biting back her bitterness. "He threatened to fire Purse if the little bimbo didn't race with him."

The visible portion of his gray features took on a look of surprise - and his jaw tightened. "That train..." he muttered, making a fist. "If he's not shooting electricity without checking his surroundings, he's pulling stunts like this. He's going to be the death of me." He shook his head and started down the track, heading toward the visible electrical structures in the distance. Wrench grabbed his holdings, moving her legs in time with his.

Together they followed the electric overhanging wires and lampposts toward where Electra's reserved track laid, passing the mechanical tracks for which Wilton Yard was famous. Ordinarily, Wrench might have taken the time to admire the technological novelties such as the moving bridges or the sections of ground which spun like turntables, but the thought of facing Electra again after his failure to place first sucked out her inner mechanic's interest.

They had gone a little ways when Wrench finally asked, "So, why did you race? You never partner up."

The broad shoulders in front of her gave a shrug. "He is a fast train," Krupp replied. "Shinkansen have broken many records."

"Point," she replied, giving him another sweeping glance. "It's a good thing you saw Nintendo was overexerting himself, or you would've been in the repair shop right alongside him."

Krupp was silent for a moment. "That's not why I let go," he said softly.

She waited for him to elaborate - and then she realized what he meant. She grabbed his muscular arm, yanking him around to face her. "You did it on _purpose_?!" she hissed. "Do you know the kind of scandal that would've made for Electra if you got caught?" It was one thing for partners to attack other racers; it was another for them to disqualify their own team member.

However, Krupp was unabashed. "I did it _for_ him," he insisted.

"Yes, I figured that," she said through her teeth, "but he's already mad at us. Imagine what he would've done to you if you dragged his name through the dirt."

The male coach's gray mouth twitched once. "Were you watching at the end?" he asked coolly. "I know you were watching Electra, but did you _see_? Just as Nintendo pulled ahead, Electra fell behind Greaseball. If Nintendo had won - "

"Electra would've been in third," she realized. Her stomach clenched.

Krupp jerked a nod. "And he would've lost. And the last three years of my life spent guarding that train would've been for nothing. That's why I had to let go." He looked away. "It's just lucky Nintendo was going too fast anyway."

Wrench had to stagger to the nearest electrical structure for support. She leaned her head against it. "I can't wait for this night to be over."

Krupp stepped beside her. "He still has the final to run."

Wrench scoffed. "And he'll still take the Barbie doll," she said bitterly, glaring at the bits of ballast beneath her wheels, "and the other racers will be pulling cars that have actual experience."

At that last word, Krupp made a sudden soft sound which she could not decipher - and she felt his hand on her metal shoulder. "That reminds me," he said quietly, but she recognized a note of conspiratorial excitement. "There's still the second heat."

"What are the odds?" Wrench cracked.

"Well, if you keep your ears open around the track marshals," Krupp continued, ignoring her comment, "some of the coaches of these National champions are out of commission. Apparently, a few contracted food poisoning. Hasn't made the newspapers yet because Control's PR team is trying to keep it under wraps."

Now that she thought of it, red-clad Espresso had been racing with a yellow buffet car during the first heat instead of one of the cars from his trainset. Her dark eyes moved to the armaments truck at last. "Your point?"

A small smile appeared on his gray mouth. "Control has given the Nationals their pick of his roster, but some might prefer a repair truck."

She raised her head.

"Just something to think about," Krupp finished. He gave her shoulder a light pat before he continued down the track, alone.

* * *

Wrench headed down the line, powered by a new determination. If Krupp could get a partner, so could she.

Her best bet seemed to be to keep following the electric wires. Besides Greaseball, the only other diesel engine was the British train, the Prince of Wales, and even with her new mission to disqualify a champion racer, there was no way she would make any sort of indention in the competition through partnering with that clumsy oaf. No, if she was going to help Electra, she had to find herself an electric vehicle.

 _Just as long as none of them are as picky as the socialites back home_ , she thought darkly. Still, if a National champion was desperate enough to represent his country in the race and did not like the coaches Control had to offer -

It was then that she heard a noise, much like grumbling in a foreign language.

She looked up in time to see a tall electric locomotive with gray metal pieces roll out of a dark tunnel, carrying a racing helmet under his black-and-white striped arm. He sported a red chest piece with a yellow hammer and sickle. Even from that distance, the repair truck could see that his decorative tan face looked distracted, as if he were on a hurried mission. Wrench recognized him at once from the newspapers: Boris Turnov, the representative from the Trans-Siberian Railway.

...And the pretty dining car who had appeared beside him in those front-page photographs was noticeably absent.

Wrench started forward, feeling a rush of triumph. "Looking for something?" she called to him, making her electronic voice as friendly as she could muster.

Turnov looked up - and he coasted to a halt at the sight of her. His stern face was hard to read, but Wrench still saw a light appear in his dark eyes. In the next moment he rolled forward.

"Excuse me," he said, closing the distance between them. "My name is Boris Petrovich Turnov, and are you doing anything during the second heat, Miss?" He gave her a hopeful look.

Wrench quirked her painted eyebrows. "The second heat?" she returned, playing dumb. "I suppose I might be free. Do you need something, Mr. Turnov?"

He jerked a nod, and a shadow crossed his decorative face. "Some dumb switch engine with rust did not bring my dining car food in time," he said, his accent growing thicker as anger seeped into his deep voice. "She cannot race. Too dizzy." He put a hand to his forehead, miming a light-headed woman. "I need a partner very soon. Or I can't race."

Wrench tilted her head. "That sounds dreadful," she said, coating her voice with the empathy of a good bedside manner even as she gave his tall figure a sweeping glance.

Yes, he would be adequate. Muscular. Good wheels. (Not too bad on the eyes either, she noticed, admiring the red-and-black contours on his angular features.) She knew this was his first year racing in the world championship, but the newspapers had listed his speed record, which had put the previous Russian representative to shame. As an engine who worked on the world's longest railway, Turnov would have more stamina than even Electra, who had never pulled an actual passenger train before.

Definitely someone to keep out of the final.

She immediately gave Turnov one of her rare smiles, inwardly congratulating herself. "I suppose I could go with you," she finally answered as if she were only agreeing to go to the movies with him.

Turnov gave a respectful nod, but she saw the brief flash of relief in his dark eyes. "Then let us go, yes?" he replied, jabbing a thumb over his shoulders to indicate his holdings.

Wrench instantly complied, but no sooner had she gripped the shiny gold-plated loops - no sooner had she allowed a triumphant smirk to play upon her red lips, hidden from Turnov's sight - that a sweet voice came ringing down the track like a silvery bell.

" _Dorogoy_!"

Wrench whirled around to see a rosy-cheeked coach in a black-and-white skirt similar to the engine's livery emerge from the tunnel and race toward them. The ornamental samovar and food items that were woven into her brown hair denoted her as a dining car - specifically, _that_ dining car.

Wrench clenched Turnov's holdings tighter.

Turnov turned as well - and a smile instantly crossed his long face. He twisted toward the coach - so fast that Wrench lost her grip on him - and sped toward her. He grabbed his diner by her wheeled hands. "Kasha! You're supposed to be resting!" he scolded, but excitement flooded his voice.

Kasha beamed, flashing pearly teeth. "A switch engine named Smuts brought me good food in time," she explained, touching his red chest piece with gentle affection. "I feel better now. I can race."

The man's grin stretched. " _Zamechatelno_!" he cried, picking her up by the waist and spinning her about. The coach gave a warm laugh.

Wrench could only watch them, trying hard to keep her composure.

Turnov set his coach back on her wheels, giving her a look of utter devotion - and then he seemed to remember the repair truck's presence. He gave Wrench a deep nod. "Good night, Miss. Thank you anyway."

"Don't mention it," Wrench said through her teeth as the engine and coach sped off toward the starting gate. She turned away, wishing them both loose wheels.

* * *

The blinking red numbers on each digital counter she past grew closer and closer to race time, and she did not spot another eligible racer. She did see Ruhrgold, decked in green and gold, pulling Joule toward the race track. Bobo, the blue TGV, had been pulling a wooden smoking carriage who had to have been fifteen times his age. That left just one racing spot.

She took a deep breath and tucked her pride in her cabin before she stepped off the electric track, taking the route used by the diesel rolling stock. She kept her eyes open for the Royal Train, who should be arriving soon.

The things she did for Electra...

She had come to an intersecting track when her ears picked up a sound of a speeding vehicle coming from her left. She paused and turned - and stared as a rusted steam locomotive came chugging down the line, zooming at a speed that contradicted his appearance. He carried a corroded helmet under one arm, and his sooty, sunkissed face had a look of pure determination.

She recognized him as that little upstart from earlier - the one the National champions had mocked after he had declared he would enter the race. Rusty, they had called him, and it certainly fit. The corroded steamer zipped by her without a glance, sending a rush of wind that brought with it the smell of coal smoke and shook the loose panel she wore like a welder's apron - it was hard to tell if he even noticed her. He pick up his pace, trailing behind him a chain of smoke from his cap, and it was then that she saw what he was aiming for.

A brunette kitchen car with soft yellow paint and a blonde chair car in a sky blue dress made of metal panels were passing under a nearby bridge. The engine leapt over onto their track and zoomed toward them. "Kitty, Carla, one of you has just _gotta_ help me! It's almost race time!" he cried in a young voice.

Both coaches stopped in their tracks. An uncomfortable expression crossed the kitchen carriage's fair countenance, but the chair car gave derisive snort. "You're _still_ racing, switch engine?" she asked, pushing back her short hair as she gave the steamer a condescending sneer.

The kitchen car elbowed her and gave the locomotive a polite smile that still managed to say she would rather be anywhere else. "Why don't you ask Buffy or Ashley to race with you, Rusty?" she suggested, fidgeting with her lacy apron.

"I did!" the rusted steamer cried, flinging out his arms. "Ashley's racing with Bobo in the next heat, and Buffy is worn out from being in the first!"

"Why don't you ask someone else?" the chair car asked.

"The rest said no," he admitted.

"Can you blame them?" the chair car cracked. The kitchen car elbowed her again, but the blonde ignored her. "You didn't exactly do so hot at the Christmas race."

"That was rigged, and you know it," Rusty shot back, clenching his fists.

The brunette coach stepped between her friend and the steamer. "I can't help you, Rusty," the kitchen car said. "I have so much stuff to do back at the food tents. You understand."

"I can't help you, Rusty," the other coach said, "because I don't want to." She sidestepped around him and started down the track, heading toward the seating section of the race track.

"Thanks a lot, Carla," Rusty shot over his shoulder.

The kitchen car gave him an apologetic glance, but she too hurried down the rails, heading toward the food tents.

"Great," the steamer growled, rubbing the reddish-brown hair visible beneath his corroded cap. "Ju-u-ust great." He turned - and his hazel eyes fell upon the repair truck.

She returned his gaze, not moving a muscle.

He hesitated for a moment, obvious conflict on his sooty face, but desperation seemed to win out, and he started toward her. "Hey, you're Electra's repair truck, right?" he called out.

"Wrench," she replied, folding her red-and-silver arms.

He braked with a tomahawk stop, causing his toe stops to screech. "Are you doing anything right now?" he asked awkwardly, but there was still a hopeful gleam on his boyish countenance.

Wrench arched an eyebrow. "Do you switchers need another repair truck on duty?" she asked coolly, wrinkling her nose at the smell of his coal-produced smoke.

The gleam dimmed. He cleared his throat. "Uh, no. I, well, need a partner. Feel up to it?" he asked with a sheepish grin.

She shook her head. "Aren't you a switch engine?" This was one of the most famous race tracks in the world. Why did Control have such a run-down engine on his roster?

His jaw clenched a little. "By choice," he insisted, "but I'm really fast. I've trained all year for this."

"Like _that's_ gonna help," she said dryly, giving him a critical glance. His damaged patches and panels were assembled together in a way that resembled overalls. His firebox doors protruded from his chest, and a tender full of coal sat on his shoulders like a backpack. Electra would have said he had no style, and Wrench agreed. On top of all that, he was easily smaller than most of the other racers. Even if he had not been a steamer covered in rust, he was still a switch engine, built for shunting cars around a classification yard, not speed. He had to be crazy if he thought he could keep up with the likes of Bobo or Ruhrgold or Turnov -

She looked at him, realization dawning. "You're the switcher who didn't feed Turnov's dining car."

Rusty averted his eyes, guilt crossing his sooty face. "Well, I _meant_ to," he insisted, fiddling with the piston on his arm, "but Control told me to do about fifty other things that had to be done _immediately_ , so... I, uh, never got back to it. I hope she's okay," he added, concern appearing.

"Absolutely peachy," Wrench said tightly.

Rusty heaved a sigh, looking heavenward as if in thanks. "That's a relief," he said. "If something had happened, I - " but that was as far as he got.

A puerile voice exploded from the speakers that lined the track, " _Control! Control! Five minutes to second heat!_ "

Rusty's face fell.

" _Race time minus five minutes! Race time minus five minutes!_ "

 _Sucks to be you_ , Wrench thought.

Rusty turned to her as if reading her mind. "So, I can't convince you?" he asked, defeated, as he adjusted the straps that connected his tender to his corroded chassis.

...Wait, straps?

On a sudden impulse Wrench stepped closer, her dark eyes widening. "You're a tender locomotive," she realized, maneuvering around him to inspect the little bunker.

"Yeah, so?"

She laid a red hand on the rusted rivets. That familiar curiosity she had experienced with Greaseball returned in a rush, but now it was mixed with a disgusted fascination, like examining a tunnel collision. She instantly recalled the chapter her mechanics class had spent on steam locomotives. She had never needed to put that information into operation since her fields of study had been electronics and assembly, not museum restoration, but she remembered that steam locomotives who could remove their coal bunker could handle long distances much better than the tank engines who could not.

She looked him up and down, seeing him in a new light. "You're not a real switch engine."

" _That's_ what I told you," he reminded her, a note of impatience seeping in. "I was built for passenger work, but switching was the only job I could get in this yard."

Passenger work...

Before she could reply, the speakers crackled, and Control's voice rang out once more. " _Control! Control! Here is an announcement!_ " Both Wrench and Rusty looked up. " _The British train has been scrapped! ...As I suspected_ ," he added quietly.

Rusty's hazel eyes widened. "...I honestly forgot about him," he breathed.

"Good thing you didn't try to show up with that kitchen car before," Wrench said dryly.

" _Space for late entry!_ " Control continued. " _Space for late entry!_ "

The words continued to echo even after the speaker fell silent. Rusty turned to the repair truck, giving her a look like a drowning man begging for the last flotation device. "Look, this race is really important. Would you go with me?" he pleaded. "Just this one race. You don't have to go with me into the final," he promised. "I can probably find someone else by then."

" _If_ you get into the final," Wrench reminded him.

"Oh, I'll get there," he insisted.

 _At least he doesn't fall over like the Prince of Wales_ , she thought. Even if he didn't keep up, she could probably knock down a few coaches before the other racers left the start line - that would still be of some use to Electra.

She gave a nod and took his couplings, careful to avoid the rusted areas. "Let's go, steam train."

* * *

A/N: In the Mexican production Turnov is called Boris. "Turnov," according to my old friend's Russian-born mother, is a surname, so I combined them.

In the number "Taunting Rusty", Turnov says, "My dining car is out of food." This is a reference to the Trans-Siberian Railway (Turnov's line), which is the longest railroad on the planet, and during the course of a trip, a dining car can run out of food. Why Turnov doesn't race with her/him is anyone's guess, so I came up with my own explanation.

I exercised a little artistic license with Purse's appearance. Whereas Wrench's and Volta's appearances follow the late London, Purse still has his bow tie of the old show/early revamp days rather than his armored-car design. I wasn't quite sure how to describe it in flattering terms: bellesdomain (dotco) (dotuk) /stex /brochures /l00_02 (dotjpg)

While Electra normally wears a red helmet in the races (like in Bochum), in London his helmet was blue. Speaking of Electra, have you guys noticed that Volta is referred to as Electra's "coach" in the show even though she's a freight truck? My headcanon is that when used in that particular context, coach can be a slang term for a female race partner regardless of model. (So, right now Wrench is Rusty's coach. XD)

If you know why Control's yard is called Wilton Yard, you've probably seen the show live XD


	2. Chapter 2

Joule promptly burst into laughter at the sight of them, and the red truck was obliged to hang onto Ruhrgold's broad shoulders for support.

"Don't lose a lung," Wrench said coolly as the dynamite truck's electronic guffaws echoed through the tunnel, causing the racers in front of Joule, including her German partner, to cover their ears.

Rusty shifted uncomfortably and turned his attention to the tunnel wall, seeming to be absorbed with the cracks in the cinderblocks.

Finally, Joule raised her red-and-blonde head. Her blue eyes had a hint of tears as she gave Wrench a smirk. "Did you lose a bet?"

Wrench ignored her and readjusted her grip to make sure she did not touch the rust on her partner's couplers.

Joule clung to her partner's thick arm, still amused, and laid a hand against her exposed hip. She had been an animal truck on a circus train before Electra had seen how well she had handled the lions and tigers. He had hired her to oversee his own menagerie of exotic pets - at least until Electra had grown bored with his collection and had refurbished her into a dynamite truck. Joule still wore the tight red leotard and red-and-white wig from her old life, even though she was a computerized car now. "If you wanted Electra's attention, you're gonna get it, girlfriend," she snickered.

Beside her, the blond ICE car gave the steamer a contemptuous glance. " _Schwächling_ ," was all Ruhrgold said before he examined his green helmet.

Ahead of Ruhrgold, Turnov and Kasha turned to look at the newcomers. Both glared at the steam engine yet said nothing - though Wrench was sure she saw the engine flex his large fist.

At the front the brown smoking car uncoupled from Bobo and stepped closer to the newcomers. "Rusty, go home before you hurt yourself," she pleaded.

In response Rusty focused on polishing the tarnished chimney of his helmet.

"Let him make his own mistakes, _mon chouchou_ ," Bobo told his carriage, taking her by the hand and drawing her close.

"Real popular, aren't you?" Wrench said out the corner of her mouth.

He shrugged. "Nothing I'm not used to," he muttered back.

Then again, Wrench reflected, all of these men were the champions of their countries, and Bobo had broken a few speed records. Who was a steam-powered switcher next to them?

It was then that Control began to call them out, and Rusty moved forward after the rest. "Point of no return," he said wryly over his shoulder. "Thanks for not bailing."

"Just keep your eyes ahead, steam train," Wrench advised. Not that it would help him much.

Rusty pulled Wrench around the loop after the others, acknowledging the audience with an embarrassed wave, though few of the cheers seemed to be for him.

As they rolled along the tracks, Wrench thought of what Joule had said. No doubt Electra would be watching somewhere, checking out the competition - _But I'm doing this FOR him_ , she told the inward cringe that arose. Electra was worth every humiliation.

Finally, they reached the start line and took their place on Ruhrgold's left. As the racers strapped on their helmets, Wrench met Joule's eyes and promptly jerked her head toward the dining car on the dynamite truck's other side. Joule quirked a riveted eyebrow - and then understanding appeared on her painted face. Followed by a smirk.

Control began the countdown. " _Three... Two... One! Trains go-o-one!_ "

Rusty shot forward just as Wrench heard the clash of metal. As they rounded the first bend, Wrench looked back to see Kasha on her knees on the start line, clutching her face, while Joule shrieked with laughter as she clung to the speeding Ruhrgold.

* * *

Wrench saw Rusty reach over his shoulder, pawing for a piece of coal, and she quickly pushed a lump into his fingers. His hand disappeared, and she heard his firebox open. Suddenly, the smoke from his racing helmet increased, as did his speed.

 _He's doing this. He's actually doing this_ , she thought in disbelief as they sailed down the rails, weaving around the other racers. Instead of dragging leagues behind at the back, the corroded locomotive was holding his own: sometimes taking the lead, sometimes swerving to the side to avoid blows from the more muscular racers, but he somehow managed not to stray even once into fourth place.

Of course, it helped that Wrench had struck a few blows at the other three racers and the two coaches. She had felt a deep satisfaction when she had managed to send Kasha into a lamppost.

Wrench kept her head low to avoid the dark smoke spewing from Rusty's chimney, but even with her head practically using his dirty tender as a pillow, she had a good idea of where the other racers were. Joule had already caused Bobo the TGV to backtrack after she uncoupled the smoking car from his belt. Ruhrgold had the lead now with Turnov chasing him - but Rusty was quickly gaining. His arms pumped harder as the force of his pistons increased, and within moments Rusty was next to Joule. Then Ruhrgold.

\- And suddenly, a familiar striped arm came up and knocked Rusty into the guardrail: Turnov immediately pulled the staggering switcher toward him, and - still rolling - the electric engine began to slam his fist into the corroded helmet. "That's for Kasha, _durak_!"

" _Boris, nyet_!" Kasha cried, tugging at his shoulder.

Wrench did not stop to think. She grabbed Kasha's couplings, yanking the coach backwards - Kasha gave a sharp squeal - and Wrench sent a kick at Turnov's striped leg.

The electric engine stumbled and fell to his knees, releasing Rusty - and within moments Turnov's bulky form was far behind the speeding steamer.

" _BORIS_!" Kasha's shriek echoed above the rush of wind in Wrench's ears, and as Rusty turned the bend, she caught sight of the dining car dropping beside her engine.

Now, they were charging down the slope. Bobo had caught up to them at last, and he pushed past Ruhrgold. Joule swung another fist toward the smoking car, but the coach ducked out of reach - unfortunately, the TGV could not escape the blow from the ICE. The two men began to punch each other, allowing Rusty to maneuver around them and pull to the lead.

With her face next to the tender, Wrench saw Joule twist her head toward them. She immediately yanked at Ruhrgold to pull back, but as Rusty neared the bottom of the hill, Wrench saw the blue arm of Bobo shoot out, connecting with Ruhrgold's chin, and the TGV was on the move after them.

The last tunnel loomed ahead, and Rusty increased his power.

They zoomed through the opening - a brief bit of darkness - and now the figure of a track marshal waved the checkered flag and -

Control's astonished voice exploded above them: " _Winner of Heat Two: Rusty the steamer! With Bobo in second place! Rusty and Bobo have a place in the final!_ "

* * *

He actually won.

Completely thunderstruck, Wrench straightened and stared at the back of her partner's head as they coasted along the track. Rusty removed his helmet to reveal brown hair drenched in sweat. Though he was panting, Rusty picked up speed again and punched the air, practically bouncing on his wheels as he made a wide loop in front of the crowd - ahead of a record-holding TGV.

Her mechanics professor would never believe this.

The cheers of the gathered rolling stock brought her back to reality. Wrench quickly raised a hand to the crowd as cameras began to flash - though she noted that most of the applauds seemed to be for Bobo rolling behind her.

 _And that means less competition for Electra_. The shock immediately abated, and a small smirk tugged on her red lips. That was right. She had personally taken out Turnov, and Ruhrgold would not be going into the final. Electra only had to worry about Greaseball and Bobo now - and one steam engine, of course.

 _But Rusty wouldn't have won if the others hadn't gotten into a fight_ , she told herself. Still, if she could take out Bobo in the final - or better yet Greaseball - it would go a long way toward getting back into Electra's good graces. Going with Rusty was looking more and more like the best thing she had done that night.

The two finalists and their partners completed their loop before going in opposite directions. Rusty pulled Wrench off to the side, out of sight of the audience. They rolled past several marshals, and Wrench could see that beneath their switcher helmets they wore expressions of pure astonishment.

Rusty just waved to his gaping coworkers, laughing good-naturedly. "Not bad for a switch engine!" he called. He handed his helmet to a marshal for safekeeping and retrieved the cap which he had stuffed inside his tender.

They soon reached a bridge, and finally Rusty twisted out of Wrench's grip, jerking so fast that his coal rattled. He spun to face her, beaming with a smile brighter than his firebox. "That was _awesome_!" he whooped, throwing up his arms.

"Congratulations, partner," Wrench said, letting camaraderie seep into her electronic voice.

His boyish grin widened, causing his hazel eyes to twinkle. He looked like he wanted to hug her - fortunately, he did not. Instead he held out his fist to bump wheels. "Thanks for going with me, Wrench. I couldn't have done it without you."

For some reason that made a ghost of a smile appear on the repair truck's face, and she coupled her knuckle to his. "No, you couldn't," she replied, causing him to chuckle. It was strangely pleasant to hear, she could not help noticing - and brushed that thought aside.

"You were _awesome_ back there," he added, giving her an admiring look. "I never seen a girl take down an engine like that before. I thought Turnov was gonna punch clear through the helmet!" he declared, gesturing in the air.

"Yeah, not bad for a _woman_ , steam train," she corrected, holding her silver-and-red arms akimbo - but her annoyance flickered away just as soon as it had come. After all, she recognized a sincere compliment when she heard it, and it worked for her mission to stay on Rusty's good side. "You were amazing too," she returned. "I don't think even Greaseball could handle those turns the way you did." The crane car shook her head in amazement. "You trained all year for this, and you didn't plan for a partner?" she asked, incredulous. "You didn't honestly wait until the last minute, did you?"

The twinkle vanished before she had even finished speaking - as did his smile. He looked away. "I _did_ have a partner," he replied uncomfortably. "She just… didn't want to race with me no more."

Wrench snorted, folding her arms. "Bet she wishes now that she could be with a finalist," she cracked.

He grimaced. "She _is_ with a finalist," he said quietly.

Wrench frowned. "The smoking car?" she guessed, remembering how the brown coach had pleaded for him to leave the race. She certainly looked old enough to be from the steamer's generation.

However, Rusty shook his head, still not meeting her gaze.

Wrench furrowed her brow - and then she looked at him sharply. Besides Greaseball's dining car, there was only one other coach in the final. "Pearl."

Rusty nodded.

An image of that wobbly bimbo on Electra's holdings flashed across her mind - the same glittery coach who had forced the superstar into second place. "Barbie was supposed to go with _you_?"

He turned his head, narrowing his eyes. "Don't call her that."

Wrench gaped at him. "How did _you_ ever land a first-class carriage?" she asked, trying to imagine Pearl's gold paint and silver trim behind such a crusty museum piece.

"I asked nicely," he replied with a wry smile - which then vanished as he sighed. "Guess she just thought electricity is faster now."

 _Well, it is_ , she wanted to point out, but something about his somber expression held her tongue - not that she cared a thing for some stranger's broken heart, she told herself. "I guess you showed her then," she said finally.

However, he shook his head. "I don't want to 'show' her anything. Once I win, she'll - " He stopped short, growing pink.

Wrench snorted. "...Come rushing into your arms to declare her undying love?" she guessed.

The pink morphed into red. "Oh, shut up," he mumbled. He started forward with a sharp pump of his pistons. Wrench grabbed his couplers as he started toward what resembled the classification yard in the distance, no doubt to head to his own shed. He must not have gotten a reserved track like the other racers.

Wrench shook her head in amazement as she studied the back of his brown head. A switcher who was not a switcher that was also fast and had attracted a first-class coach. This guy was just full of surprises.

 _No wonder he had looked like someone had dumped motor oil in his breakfast_ , she thought, remembering the conflicted expression on his sunkissed face when he had caught sight of her earlier - and how it had taken an eleventh-hour frenzy to make him ask the repair truck who worked for his romantic rival to replace the woman he lost.

Then an image flashed across her mind, and once again she saw the dreamy expression of Pearl's pretty visage when Electra had pulled her to the starting line. She had loathed the sight then, but now - for some unfathomable reason - a twinge of sympathy for the steam engine rose up inside the repair truck.

She promptly banished it. Electra had needed a coach for the first heat, and if he had not gotten Pearl, then he would have fired Purse. It was tough luck for Rusty, but it was not her problem.

Of course, she brooded, the irony of this situation was that if Electra had not taken Pearl, the electric would have won his heat while Rusty would have been lucky to place second with his inexperienced carriage slowing him down.

Their path now ran between the truss supports of the bridge which held the tracks that led into the hills. However, they had not gone even six feet pass when there came a medley of voices from the rails above them.

Rusty jerked around, uncoupling Wrench with that motion. A look of panic crossed his face. "Oh, no..."

Wrench spun, tensing as she looked up - and immediately felt confused.

Five or six diesel engines, faces hidden by their illuminated helmets, zipped down the upper levels, hooting and slapping each other. Right in the front - her heart skipped a beat - rolled Greaseball. The polished E9 locomotive stood out among the plainer engines like a light in the darkness. From his greased hair to the leather-like design of his black paint and eye-catching yellow metal, he looked like a living time capsule from days gone by. His massive frame was endowed with muscles which had obviously been developed above and beyond factory standards.

Suddenly, Rusty's tarnished hands were on her shoulders, pushing her back toward the bridge. "Hide," he hissed.

Wrench jerked away. "What - "

"Just do it!" he ordered and spun on his wheels, pumping his arms wildly as he sped in the opposite direction.

Wrench did not move - but she saw, as if in one synchronized movement, the helmeted heads of Greaseball's companions turn toward the speeding steamer. A whoop of wicked glee erupted from the pack, and they pointed oily hands toward him, hissing among themselves.

Greaseball turned as well. Though his sunglasses blocked his expression, he gave his friends a thumbs up, and he led the way down the slope.

Rusty did not even get as far as the next semaphore. The diesels surrounded him in moments - and none of them had a kind look for the steamer.

Without knowing that she was doing it, Wrench started toward them.

* * *

As she neared, she saw that Greaseball had removed his sunglasses, revealing a pair of blue orbs which had been voted Sexiest Eyes in many coaches' magazine - only now they had none of the warmth seen in the publicity photos. "Well, lookey-lookey what we got here," he snickered, slapping Rusty on the shoulder - right on a damaged patch. "Rust Bucket did alright for himself, didn't he, Tank?"

"Sure did, Grease," the engine next to him replied, giving the gang's prey a shove. "Widdle Wusty beat big bad Bobo all by himself. No Poppa to hold his hand."

Rusty staggered, and he got too close to another locomotive, who shoved him into another diesel. "You didn't go so fast back at the Christmas race. Think he's gonna choke, big bro?" the one who pushed him mocked, and through the pilot of his helmet, he flashed the steamer a smile that revealed missing teeth.

"I think so, Gook," the one named Tank replied, and he pushed Rusty away as the steamer was passed back to him.

"How come you ain't never outrun _us_ , steam train?" another asked.

"Lube's got a point there, Slow Man," Greaseball agreed, grabbing Rusty by the collar and yanking him near, almost causing him to lose his balance. "Why you never put up much fight around us?"

"Maybe he likes it," Gook mocked, smacking Rusty's other side. "We're probably the closest he gots to any friends."

Greaseball yanked Rusty's collar again, and the steamer made a strangled sound. "Is that true, Slow Man?" he taunted. "You want us to be your friends?"

Rusty clenched his jaw, but his hazel eyes darted from side to side - and landed on Wrench. A look of horror crossed his sooty face. Suddenly, he turned to Greaseball. "Why?" he asked in a loud, awkward voice that had an obnoxious bite which did not quite match his expression. "Is your ma too busy to play?"

Greaseball's stunning blue eyes became like daggers. "Why, you little - " He drew back his fist.

Everything inside Wrench told her to leave and go back to Electra; she did not know what was happening, but it clearly was none of her business.

So, she did not understand why she sauntered closer, adopting an easy gait which belied her thundering circuits, and took on a sultry voice: "My, my, the great Greaseball himself! Where _is_ a camera when you need one?"

The diesel engine whirled around. "Uh, hey." He slung a muscular arm around Rusty's shoulders. "Just messing with my buddy here. Ain't that right, Rusty?" he asked, giving the steamer a glare that dared him to deny it.

Wrench moved closer, and the gang of diesels drew back to allow her access to the celebrity. She laid a hand on his free arm. "I'm a _huge_ fan," she cooed, mimicking the tone Joule often used on her conquests, and ran her fingers against his rivets. "Talk about a _diesel_ engine," she quipped, pretending to admire his muscles - which suddenly were not as appealing as they had been an hour ago. "And I thought Krupp was the one who had all the guns."

Greaseball's chest inflated. He released Rusty, who scooted away, and ran a hand through his well-groomed hair. "You sure got taste, toots," he grinned, lowering his eyelids in a smoldering stare. "How did a pretty wagon like you wind up hanging around a spark plug and a tea kettle?"

Wrench ignored the insult aimed at Electra and slid her hands over the exposed metal of his bulging pecs, burying her fingers beneath his black vest. "Not much variety in the race, is there?" she returned, meeting his blue eyes. "You're the only diesel tonight. At least, the only diesel that matters."

His smile widened.

Her gaze shifted to Rusty. She gave the smallest jerk of her head, indicating for him to move, but the engine seemed to be rooted in one spot, staring at her in disbelief.

She turned back to Greaseball. "I have never seen an E-Nine engine in person," she purred, pretending to ogle his broad shoulders now. "I just _love_ seeing the bulldog nose on your racing helmet when I watch you on television. To think I might get to see it up close tonight!"

His hand found her waist. "Well, I can let you see a whole lot more after the race if you want."

A hoot went through the nearby diesels, but they made an effort to smother it, not wanting to encroach upon the champion's flirting.

Wrench's red mouth widened. "It's just so nice to see _retired_ rolling stock still chugging away on the railroads," she said, batting her eyes. "You're an inspiration to all us youngsters."

The rolling stock went deadly silent. Rusty's jaw dropped.

Greaseball's hand twitched against her side, and he slowly removed it.

Wrench patted his arm. "It's so _generous_ of the Union Pacific to allow their older pieces of rolling stock to enter the race year after year," she said sweetly. "Most companies would just send the newest engine, but don't mess with the classics, right?" She squinted at his famous face. "Why, you must be just a year or two younger than Rust Bucket over there. Do you ever race against the other museum pieces in the off season?" she asked. "I'm sure the world would _love_ to see you race against one of those Big Boys. Geezer versus geezer."

Greaseball's smile became decidedly tight. "Best mind what you say, toots."

Wrench gave him a sugarcoated smile. "Ever see a woman wire a man's jaw shut in under three minutes, pumpkin?"

There came a clank of metal, and Rusty was immediately by the repair truck's side. "Leave her alone, Greaseball," he ordered, putting a rusted arm between them as if he could hope to shield the car from the muscular engine.

Greaseball snorted. "Yeah, right." One hand pushed against the shorter man's forehead, and Rusty stumbled, almost knocking into Wrench.

Greaseball drew back a few steps, replacing his sunglasses. "Since I like the look of your face, babe, I'm gonna give you a piece of advice," he told the crane car. "Just remember that I know which corners of the race track don't have cameras."

Wrench did not even blink. "And I know the phone numbers of a lot of newspapers, doll."

However, before anyone could do anything else, a deep steam whistle sounded out. "You step away from them right now!" a booming voice hollered.

Wrench whirled around to see an old steam engine decked in brown paint charging toward them. Hitched behind him were three boxcars with the distinct build and garbs of professional pugilists.

Greaseball gave the newcomer a sneer. "We ain't doing nothing, Pops."

The steamer braked in front of the tall locomotive, and the boxcars uncoupled. The three trucks stood nose-to-nose with the other diesels, daring them to cross their makeshift line to get to the two steamers.

"You go and get, boy," the old man barked. "Or I'll tell Control. He'll listen to me, just watch!"

Greaseball's expression did not change, but he turned away, snapping his fingers, and his gang moved away from the boxcars. "Remember what I said, babe," he said over his shoulder before he headed down the open line.

* * *

Only when the gang disappeared into a tunnel did Rusty finally let out a breath, slumping his shoulders. "That was close."

"We showed them," one of the boxcars smirked, and his identical brothers pumped the air, grunting in agreement.

The elderly steamer turned to the younger. "You okay, son?"

"Yeah, Poppa," he replied, and his shaking hand popped a piece of coal into his firebox.

The other man wagged a finger at him. "You just ran a race, boy. Refill your water tank before you boil up anymore." The old man glanced at Wrench - and did a double take. A wide smile just as cheerful as Rusty's appeared on his wrinkled features. "And who's this?" he asked, touching the brim of his cap.

"Wrench," the repair truck replied, giving the old man a quick glance. He was dressed in overalls like Rusty, but that was where the similarities ended. His brown face was lined with the shadow of a white beard, and he was clearly in better condition, though his brown paint had faded. Wrench caught sight of a decal for the Kansas City Central on the front of his cap.

"Poppa McCoy," the steamer replied, not even blinking at her electronic voice. "How do you know Rusty?" he asked, and he gave the younger steamer a knowing smile.

Wrench promptly stepped away from the rusted switcher. "I went with him in the race," she said briskly.

"She was great," Rusty put in, and she heard a note of pride. "Totally took down Turnov like a pro." He punched the air for emphasis.

A look of concern, mingled with confusion, crossed Poppa's weathered face. "Where's Pearl?"

Rusty coughed into his tarnished hand. "She's with someone else."

Poppa blinked. "She wouldn't play?" he asked, as if he were talking of little children sharing toys instead of competing in the biggest night of the year. Then he seemed to dismiss the thought and smiled at Wrench again. "Well, thanks for going with him on such short notice. I taught that boy everything he knows," he added proudly, giving Rusty's shoulder a light punch.

"Not that it's helped him much," one of the boxcars teased.

Poppa hushed the truck before he addressed the other engine. "Now, you go on and fill your water tank before the final, son. Can't make steam on an empty boiler."

"Yes, sir," Rusty deferred and turned to Wrench. He grinned. "Wanna come?"

"Might as well," Wrench replied, hitching on. No point in hanging around here.

Rusty gave the older man a wave and kicked off, leading Wrench down a line that seemed to be going far away from the direction which Greaseball had taken. However, they had not gone far when he suddenly said, reproachfully, "I told you to hide."

Wrench shrugged, even though he could not see it. Typical engine. Thinking a truck could not take care of herself as if a lack of motor power equated a lack of muscles. "I know plenty of electrics who are tougher than them," she replied, indifferent. "They don't scare me."

He shook his head. "And folks say _I'm_ crazy."

"Didn't you just brag about how well I took down Turnov?" she reminded him.

"This is different." After a moment, he looked over his shoulder and asked, "Do you really know the numbers of newspapers?"

"No, but I can find out," she returned. "So can you."

He gave a hollow laugh. "Wouldn't solve much. Nobody would believe some rusted, steam-powered switcher over the reigning champion."

"You could still cause a stir," Wrench countered. She had seen plenty of T.V. footage of Greaseball delivering punches during a race, and yet he had always seemed so charismatic and approachable in the sports interviews. She would have never guessed he was someone who went around tormenting weaker rolling stock for fun. Her hands tightened on Rusty's couplings. Suddenly, she hoped Electra's victory would be extra humiliating for the diesel engine. "He can't get away with that kind of behavior," she insisted. "You should tell Control."

Rusty shook his head again. "You must be new."

* * *

The squat wooden water tower stood beside a weed-infested track, illuminated by a flickering yellow light. It had certainly seen better days, Wrench thought as Rusty braked beside it.

The steamer reached over his shoulder to touch his tender, and Wrench saw him open metal doors on what had to be his water tank. He then took hold of the long pipe at the base of the wooden tower and brought it down, and he fiddled with it to align the end with the gaping mouth of his tender.

Wrench reached up and grabbed the pipe, guiding it into place - more to see how it worked than anything else. She raised herself up to her front wheels to peer inside the tank, and she caught the hint of sloshing water reflecting the faintest rays of the artificial light.

He smiled his thanks and pulled the cord to start the flow of water. " _I've been working on the railroad each and every day_ ," he hummed. " _I've been working on the railroad, and I do it for low pay_."

How could he be so calm after what he went through? Wrench regarded his happy grin. If it had been Electra, he would have called up his lawyer and made a fuss until the media picked it up and hounded Greaseball for a lifetime.

Wrench knitted her brow. She had often heard tales from the electric engines of the treatment they received at the hands of diesel engines. The rolling stock back home were only too happy to remind everyone how electric trains were now hounded on tracks that had once been their domain. However, tonight had been the first time she had seen it up close - and from a celebrity of all trains.

She stepped in front of Rusty. "You know," she said, meeting his hazel eyes, "you can tell someone what Greaseball does to you. I'm sure there are some conservative rolling stock out there who will root for a steamer."

"Maybe. Maybe not," he replied, not convinced. "Not really my style."

"Doesn't mean you should be his punching bag," she countered, placing her hands on her silver hips. "I don't have much love for diesels myself, you know. Especially for one that beats on electric engines every year. Greaseball can't get away with this."

Rusty shook his head. "It's not that easy, Wrench." He exhaled, and for a moment the boyish features were replaced by a tired, jaded expression that made him seem much older. "What's the saying? 'He's no hero to his valet'?" he asked dryly. "Let's just say that even the track marshals are afraid of him and his gang. That's why he gets away with so much in the race - that, and he's Control's favorite," he added darkly. His fingers creaked as his hands clenched. "I ain't afraid or nothin', but I ain't stupid enough to pick a losing fight. Greaseball only understands action. Once I win the race, that'll show him."

"But what if you don't win?" she returned as an image of her superstar flying over the finish line crossed her mind. "Are you gonna put up with it for the rest of your life?"

"Good thing I'm gonna win then," he replied. He shrugged. "Besides, Poppa would just say that the Starlight Express wants us to 'love our enemies' or something like that. Poppa always says to be the bigger train."

"Doesn't mean you have to be a doormat," Wrench argued.

He gave her a sad smile. "You're nice to worry, Wrench, but I'll be fine." He turned his attention to the hose connected to his tender then, and Wrench stepped back, frowning at his words.

Why was she letting herself get so worked up over some old engine that nobody else cared about? She worked for the Engine of the Future, and Electra's victory would mean the end of all non-electric lines, including the ones in Control's yard. What did she care for anyone who did not fit in the future which the man she loved most would provide?

Meanwhile, Rusty wiggled his shoulders to make the water in his tank slosh about as if to check how much more he had to go, and - more to get her mind off her troubling thoughts than out of any pretense of courtesy - Wrench asked, "How much longer?"

He shrugged, gripping the straps of his tender. "Not too long. My tank can hold up to about ten thousand, or so I've been told." He squinted his eyes in thought. "The uphill bit of the race might've taken me... eight hundred? Give or take."

Almost one tenth of his contents, she quickly calculated. No wonder diesel engines were ruled more efficient than steamers.

 _But diesels were ruled better than electrics too_.

That's different, she told herself, pushing that observation aside. The sun had set on the day of steam, and now it would rise on electricity once Electra won. Electric trains had been embraced throughout Europe and Asia for its better performances - as evidenced by the many electric National champions who came to the race year after year - but despite the US being one of the chiefest pioneers in electric technology, many railroads had clung stubbornly to diesel engines due to the lower costs. Some electric railroads had even converted to diesel. Electra was in the race tonight to change all that.

But even as she forced herself to think on this reality, one image flashed across her mind - the way Rusty had shoved her toward the bridge to hide before he had tried to lead the diesel gang off, voluntarily taking on Greaseball to give a stranger a chance to flee.

She glanced at him again, and a strange empathy rose up inside her - which she promptly tried to ignore, focusing instead of his dusty, out-of-date appearance in an effort to remind herself of what Electra would have to say if he knew she was entertaining such notions toward his competition.

Even so, she felt another emotion surface - her inner mechanic's sense of curiosity.

She touched his shoulder without thinking. "You _are_ rusted, aren't you?" she observed. "It's a wonder you're still working."

His mouth twitched. "A guy's gotta eat."

"Indeed," she murmured. It was like stumbling upon the last dodo in its natural habitat. She ran a hand along his chest, her brow knitting as she analyzed his firebox. She had never worked with steam engines, but she knew the general idea of how their system worked: the firebox heated the boiler, and the boiler sent steam to the rest of the body. Primitive, yes, but that inquisitiveness had stirred inside her, and she laid her fingers against the side of his rusted torso. She could feel the fire crackling in his chest while the boiler in his back bubbled.

He probably had been quite a sight before the corrosion had overtaken his body like leprosy.

Rusty cleared his throat, drawing her out of her observations, and she looked up. Even in the dim yellow light, it was easy to see the shade of red that had crept over his sunkissed synthetic skin, bright as a signal flare. She quickly removed her hand. "Oh, _please_. I'm a mechanic," she snorted, more to cover up her own breach of social protocol.

"I knew that," he replied a little too quickly, stepping away from her. He began to fiddle with the pipe, but he pulled it up too soon, and water drench the wooden ties beneath his wheels. "Meant to do that," he laughed weakly and cleared his throat. "L-Let's go."

 _Poor guy's probably never even held a girl's hand_ , she thought as she studied the blush that refused to abate. She tried not to smile. "You're certainly not the worst case I've ever seen," she commented as she hitched behind him. "You could probably still reverse the corrosion at this point without major replacement work."

He rolled his eyes, gripping the straps on his shoulders. "That takes money," Rusty said flatly. "Not exactly what you can do on a switcher's salary."

She furrowed her brow. "How come Control never refurbished you?"

He looked straight ahead, but Wrench saw him clenched his jaw. "Control doesn't think I'm worth it."

 _Makes sense_. Railroads were businesses, and rolling stock who were deemed liabilities were left to rot on overgrown, disused lines. "I bet you got his attention tonight," she offered.

He jerked a nod. "He's gonna see what steam can really do," he added with a new heat. "When I win the race."

 _Don't hold your breath, pal_.

* * *

Refueled and refilled, there was nothing left for them to do but head over to the strenuous uphill race track where the final would be held.

"Piece of cake," Rusty grinned at Wrench as he took the crane car down a switcher shortcut. Within moments she saw the overhanging wires of electric track. Rusty seemed to have no qualms stepping on rails that were not meant for him, and Wrench watched with sick fascination as the smoke from his cap mingled with the catenary lines. It was almost sacrilegious.

"This way's faster," Rusty explained with a kind laugh when he saw her look. He let out a friendly whistle, his wheeled hand tugging an invisible cord.

As if in response, a familiar air horn suddenly blared behind them. " _Clear my track, peasants_!" came an echoing bark.

Wrench whirled around - her heart fluttered - and she quickly pulled Rusty to the side, staring in awe at the approaching electric engine and his train of four trucks and one pretty coach. Even when he was impatiently bolting down the line, something about his handsome face made Wrench's breath hitch.

The strength of his computer's wireless signal sent shivers through the repair truck as he approached, strengthened by the presence of the four computer pieces hitched behind. To Wrench's amazement, instead of zooming past Electra suddenly unhitched from the catenary and brought his consist in a wide loop around the repair truck and her partner. Electra's painted lip curled into a sneer. "Who's your new friend, Wrench?" he mocked. "Have you gone from chasing diesels to chasing scrapyard fodder?"

"He's nobody you need to worry your gorgeous head about, dearest," Wrench replied, smoothing her flame-like hair back even as she shuffled her wheels to follow her engine's movements.

She had tried to pass it off as a flirtatious joke, but Electra suddenly looked insulted. "I know _that_ ," he growled, twitching as if he were still connected to the power lines. "As if this rusty rubbish has a chance against Pearl and me." He gave a nasty laugh, and he raised a gloved hand crackling with electricity, but he did not shoot. With one last sneer he started down the line again.

The other four components gave Wrench calculating glances as they passed. Joule shook her red-and-white head, and Krupp gave her a lingering look over his broad metallic shoulder as Electra pulled them away.

"Now, that's not fair, Electra," Wrench heard Pearl say as the long train disappeared around a bend.

Rusty glowered after them. "We'll see who's laughing at the finish line," he said under his breath. "Let's see her stay with him then."

Wrench stared at him, her eyes widening with wonder. Ordinarily, Electra would not have wasted his breath on rolling stock he deemed beneath him, but he just had gone out of his way to taunt his competition. Clearly, he had witnessed Rusty's performance in the second heat - and he thought the steam engine was worth demoralizing.

"You certainly made an impression on him," she said slowly.

Rusty did not seem to share her astonishment. "He wears a lot of paint for a dude," he grumbled.

* * *

Rusty got his wish soon after. Pearl left Electra's company not even fifteen minutes later, but Wrench saw he took no delight in the break-up. Probably because of whom the observation car picked instead.

When it happened, Wrench and Rusty had made it to the part of the yard just outside the starting gate, which was closed off to the general public. The boxcars from before (Rusty called them the Rockies) had started an impromptu rap session which attracted the other rolling stock, and within minutes it grew into a kind of party. Wrench saw Bobo the TGV weaving around the other trains, pulling his smoking carriage as well as Espresso's buffet car and Dinah, Greaseball's blonde-hair, blue-eyed, blue-painted dining car. Curiously, Greaseball did not seem to mind that his girlfriend was fraternizing with the competition. He rolled around with his gang of diesel engines (and one flat car laden with bricks who had joined their group). Also enjoying the festivities was Electra.

Wrench and Rusty had moved to the side to sit on the truss guardrail of a trestle stretching over a rocky ravine and surveyed the proceedings. The repair truck felt her jaw tightened as she saw Electra put his arms around Pearl's skinny waist, moving with fluid, expert steps. That heart-warming smile played upon his beautiful blue lips, and his blue eyes focused on the gold coach with desire. As Wrench watched, Electra reached up to stroke Pearl's delicate face.

Wrench averted her gaze.

She heard Rusty shift against the guardrail, and she turned to see him also staring at the pretty coach and his rival with a bitter heat in his hazel eyes. He noticed her observant gaze then, and his jaw tightened. "You can go back to him now, Wrench," he said. "I told you I'd find someone else to go into the final."

Wrench quickly adopted a pleasant smile. "Why would I do that, partner?" she asked, pretending to be surprised.

He gave her a look. "I'm 'nobody that Electra needs to worry about,' remember?"

The crane car faked a laugh, running her fingers through her flame-like wig. "He's my boss," she said carelessly. "He _pays_ me to say stuff like that."

Rusty held her gaze. "You don't have to pretend with me," he returned. "I see the way you look at him."

Wrench stiffened. "It doesn't matter how I look at him," she said tightly, trying to keep her voice indifferent even as she had to bite back what she really wanted to say to him. "He isn't going to race with me either way. At least you need a partner." _And I can do more to help Electra by being IN the race than on the sidelines_ , she added silently. She forced that comradely smile to return. "You can't get rid of me that easily, steam train."

Rusty looked down at his folded arms. "Guess we're both out in the cold," he said quietly.

Wrench felt her smile become tight.

Rusty drummed his fingers against his pistons. "Will he be nice to her?"

That caught her by surprise. She hesitated. Electra was a free spirit and did not tie himself to any one piece of rolling stock. Volta was the closest thing he had to a long-term commitment, but he still preferred to keep their relationship open - as Joule was only too happy to remind everyone. It was just old-fashion thinking to expect exclusivity these days, but something in Rusty's face kept her from saying it aloud.

"He'll definitely give her the time of her life," she answered at last.

Wrench saw him swallow hard. She was sure she heard his boiler increase its pressure.

 _If you only knew that Electra thinks you're a threat_. For some reason she could not fully explain - though perhaps it was just to make sure he did not try to get another race partner - Wrench stood and touched his arm. "Hey, let's dance," she suggested.

Rusty grimaced. "No, thanks."

However, she grabbed his wrists and yanked him toward her. "I wasn't asking," she told him as he stumbled to his wheels. "I can't stand seeing a grown man looking like a homesick puppy." She moved his arms to her waist, and that shade of red returned to his face with a vengeance. She rolled her eyes and linked her hands behind his neck. "It's just a dance, Wonder Boy. Not a marriage proposal."

He gulped. "Y-Yeah."

She pulled him to the middle of the trestle track, but he continued to stare at her like a deer caught in headlights. She pointed a stern finger at his sooty face. "Women are more attracted to men who look like they're fun to be around."

He glanced toward the other rolling stock - and no doubt the golden coach in the superstar's arms - and jerked a nod. He reluctantly began to move with her, following her steps. After a few minutes of forced dancing, she felt him slowly unstiffen, and he seemed to get into the music. Even the blush began to fade. Soon he began to hum along with the boxcars.

 _Are you ready for the big one starting any minute?_

 _We're in it. Ha! You gotta be in it to win it!_

 _You gotta be in the frame_

 _If you wanna win the game!_

He actually was not a bad singer, she noted.

"You dance pretty well for an old guy," Wrench smirked as they parted to take wider, more energetic steps.

Rusty raised a hand to his ear while the other linked with hers. "Ehh? What's that, Missy?"

She leaned closer. "I said you have rust in your ears."

Rusty just laughed - a genuine, boyish laugh.

 _Not a bad smile either_ , she thought as she met his gaze - and she suddenly noticed how round his eyes were. The hazel irises had flecks of gold in a pattern she had never seen before. No doubt some factory worker had taken special care to make them shine, and she wondered how the artist had made them emit such a peculiar warmth when he gave that goofy grin.

Before she could ponder this too much, Rusty finally felt comfortable enough to twirl her, and she detected - with a strange tightness in her throat - an undeniable strength in his arms. His creaky limbs had nothing close to the bulky biceps of Greaseball or the elegant muscle tone of Electra, but switcher work had put power in his pipes.

And when they rejoined, Wrench could not help noticing how warm his metal felt...

He spun her again - and she caught sight of a gray figure watching her. As she settled against Rusty's iron torso, she discreetly looked down the line to see Krupp standing a little ways from Electra with his metal arms folded. Wrench saw his gray mouth had formed a line, and his painted eyebrows quirked above his dark sunglasses.

Wrench returned the male coach's cold stare, degree for degree - though she took one step back to separate herself from the steam locomotive.

Without warning, the rapping boxcars fell silent. Both of them whirled around, and Wrench promptly saw the problem. Greaseball was over by Electra and Pearl.

The diesel was saying something to the electric's coach, giving her the same smile which had graced so many magazine pages. The dreamy expression on Pearl's face was back, but now it was directed toward the diesel locomotive and - without even a final acknowledgement toward the electric superstar - Pearl stepped away from Electra and hitched onto Greaseball's couplings.

* * *

That two-bit hussy!

Wrench had an instant impulse to fly to her engine - but even as she took one step toward the electric, who stared in shock at his ex-partner, her mind suddenly wondered how thrilled Electra would actually be to see the repair truck who was responsible for him picking Pearl in the first place.

She immediately braked, and her stomach sank deeper than the ravine beneath her wheels. She settled for glaring at the gold observation car as Greaseball zoomed along the perimeter of the area before heading into the hills, followed by his cheering gang.

Didn't Pearl know the _honor_ it was to be the coach of the future champion who would literally change the way the railroads functioned in this country? Wrench would have given her right arm to go with the superstar into the final - and even more just to receive one of the smoldering looks Electra had given the observation car.

Wrench fumed as the other components wordlessly guided Electra down a branch line, rubbing his shoulders and touching his arms while no doubt murmuring their adoration - which allowed the electric engine to regain some shred of dignity as the other rolling stock dispersed. The boxcars had snuck away as well, leaving the smoking car and buffet car to comfort Greaseball's abandoned blue partner.

"Poor Dinah," Rusty whispered.

Wrench spun around and grabbed his couplings, indicating that he should leave too - to where she did not care. "What do you think of your princess now?"

He rolled his shoulders uncomfortably as he kicked off, rolling off the trestle toward the nearest tunnel. "Pearl isn't usually like this."

"Could've fooled me," she returned dryly, thinking back to how the observation car had earlier been among the champion's swooning admirers. "Seems like she's been a longtime member of the Greaseball Fanclub."

Rusty did not reply; he just shook his head, slouching his tarnished shoulders. That annoyed Wrench even further.

"Don't worry. You still have a shot with the princess," she sneered, much more nastily than she had intended. "If she slows Greaseball down the way she did Electra, our diesel won't be too attracted to her."

Rusty slowed to a stop, mere feet from the gaping, illuminated tunnel, and turned. "Pearl slowed Electra?" he frowned.

Wrench sneered. "Count yourself lucky she didn't go with you in the second heat, steamer. Joule would've painted the track with her. You saw what she did to the smoking car."

His brow furrowed, and his round eyes became troubled. "So... if Pearl _didn't_ go with Electra, she might've been hurt?"

"And she wouldn't have taken down Turnov like yours truly," Wrench answered.

His mouth became a thin line.

It was then that an electronic voice boomed behind them: "Wrench!"

Both turned. Wrench frowned as she released Rusty's couplings. "Krupp?"

The gray car zoomed toward them like a missile. He braked effortlessly in front of her. "Electra needs you," he said, his deep electronic voice gruffer than normal. "Something's wrong with his computer, and we can't get him up the hill to the electric lines."

"Is he okay?" Rusty asked behind the repair truck.

Krupp tilted his head as if to regard the steamer behind his dark shades, but he returned his attention to Wrench. "Do your duty, repair truck," he ordered, jabbing a thumb back down the track even as he turned for her to hitch onto him.

Wrench started to obey, but Rusty grabbed her arm. "Hey, hang on," he said hurriedly. "I can get you guys there real fast. I know all the shortcuts in the yard if you just tell me where he is."

Wrench blinked. "You'd do that?" she asked, surprised.

Krupp's gray lip curled. "We don't need _your_ help, steam train."

However, Wrench re-coupled to Rusty's corroded holdings. "Do you want to keep Electra waiting?" she demanded, shooting the male coach a glare.

Krupp hesitated before he exhaled in exasperation and grabbed her couplings, barely managing to join their odd train before Rusty shot forward, sprinting hard down the line.


	3. Chapter 3

_Clear ELECTRA…_

Wrench felt Electra sink lower as Krupp removed the main program from his memory - _just for a warm reboot_ , she told herself. Two strong iron arms kept the comatose engine on his wheels from behind while Krupp used both his gloved hands to prop up the majestic head, keeping the pantograph within his wig connected to the overhanging wires. The mechanisms in his hands had been manually shut off to keep him from discharging electricity accidentally when he came back online.

 _Verify…_

Wrench stood in front of the locomotive, and she could see the output from Krupp's component as if she were watching a film with subtitles. The call went through, sending a ping to the subroutines. When the armaments truck was satisfied, he jerked a nod at Wrench.

The repair truck slid her red hands across what bit of Electra's blue torso that was not covered by the normally illuminated red chest piece. She could feel the thumping of his electronic heart, powered by his battery even when shut down. She focused on it like a beacon in darkness to keep from entertaining the grim scenarios which flashed across her mind.

 _Electra will be fine_ , she told herself and gritted her teeth as her own piece of the computer responded to Krupp's signal.

 _Go to ELECTRA…_

 _Load..._

The program responded without issue, but Wrench continued to hold her breath.

Behind her, Volta's cooler began to hum, now with a fearful intonation which Wrench could not remember ever hearing, but it was not enough to cover up the nervous pace of Joule's wheels against the rails. Neither woman offered much use in the start-up, and their noises were not helping. The repair truck did her best to tune them both out.

Purse shifted on her other side, and Wrench saw the money truck tightened his grip on Electra's arm as he took his turn in the booting process.

 _Enter ELECTRA…_

 _Run ELECTRA…_

The awakened system flashed a message meant for the small accountant.

 _Confirm,_ the money truck replied. _Confirm. Enter._

The cooling fans inside the locomotive's body began to whirl as the processors hummed and clicked.

Then Electra drew in a deep breath, eyes still closed.

Relief washed through Wrench - which promptly subsided as a pair of cold hands pushed their way between the repair truck and Krupp. Volta laid her manicured fingers against Electra's handsome face, and the engine leaned into her touch as if instinctively.

Wrench felt an instant flare of jealousy, but she fought against it.

Electra's eyes fluttered open. He blinked, disoriented, and Wrench saw his blue eyes focus first on the freezer, then drift to Krupp. Suddenly, his gaze flicked to Wrench, and - her heart quickened - his red hand came up to cover her own which still rested on his chest. The blue mouth formed a tired smile, and he gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. The gesture of gratitude was brief, but Wrench knew the sincerity of his touch.

Electra straightened himself, and the arms holding him from behind released their grip on his torso. Electra turned as best as he could amidst the hovering rolling stock, and he opened his mouth as if to thank the vehicle - and promptly froze as his blue eyes fell upon the dusty face staring back at him.

"What," he asked, disgust crinkling his red-and-blue features, "is _that_ doing here?"

"You're welcome," Rusty answered before his arms gave a single backwards pump, distancing himself a few paces from the taller engine with an easy glide.

Wrench quickly grabbed Electra's arm. "Rusty got you back to the electric track for us," she explained, stroking his biceps in a gentle massage. "The others couldn't get up the incline without his power."

"No thanks necessary," Rusty said, and his round eyes flicked to Wrench. He saluted her with two fingers. "See ya later." He spun on his front wheels and headed down the track, his black smoke rising past the electric wires.

Electra turned away and visibly shuddered. "How could you let it touch me?" he demanded, looking at the repair truck with a betrayed expression. "I feel like I need a tetanus shot."

"You're perfectly safe, dearest," Wrench assured him - but she could not understand why she felt a sudden flare of annoyance toward her locomotive. "You should be thankful. He was very kind to you."

"That is a matter of opinion," the engine retorted as he stepped away from his trucks, dusting off his torso as if he thought there were rust streaks on his well-polished frame. "I feel polluted," he declared as he sat down on the nearest structure, which was one of Wilton Yard's many latticed guard rails.

At his words, Joule promptly giggled, elbowing Volta. "What overgrown siding did you even find that thing, Wrench?" she said, looking toward the last traces of Rusty's smoke disappearing into the distance. "How does he even move?"

"Very well, actually," Wrench frowned without meaning to. "Certainly better than your German."

Joule's red mouth formed an amused O. "Look, she's actually sticking up for that junk pile!"

Beside her, Volta smirked, folding her arms. "It seems like Wrench has a taste for vintage wines tonight," she observed, and both women snickered, their electronic voices making them sound like computerized chipmunks.

Wrench straightened her shoulders. "He got Electra to the electric lines," she said coolly, fixing her dark eyes on the two. "Anyone who keeps my engine safe is okay in my book."

The smiles on both white faces vanished.

However, Electra snorted. "Such a display of loyalty," he said dryly, shifting on his guardrail to face her. "Well, better late than never, right, Wrench?"

She lowered her gaze.

However, Electra made an impatient sound. "Well?" he snapped. "Am I well enough to race?"

"A quick look at your log will tell for sure," she said hurriedly, rolling over to stand in front of him. She laid a hand on each of his shoulders and activated the wireless connection between her computer piece and his C.P.U. Immediately, lines of data appeared before her eyes, and she navigated his database to the transaction log.

She scanned the log's record of actions leading up to the systems failure. She immediately saw the problem. In his effort to outshine the other rolling stock at the impromptu party, Electra had had too many programs running at once: _dance_rap_ , _witty_banter_ , _charisma_ , and - Wrench frowned - _seduction_ were just a few among the list. The log also showed an increase in Electra's heartbeat as he had made physical contact with the observation car while his emotions had switched to a triumphant status when he had taken note of Volta's disapproval.

Wrench quickly moved to a different line of data. She saw from the time stamp that a few minutes before Pearl had left his side, Electra had opened _diesel_taunt_.

"What exactly did you say to Greaseball?" she asked.

Electra's face took on a disinterested expression, but Wrench felt him shift uncomfortably beneath her fingers. "Just told him he needed a better pair of wheels than that Dinah," he drawled.

"And he certainly took your advice," Krupp scolded, and Wrench heard his wheels approach. "There was no need to antagonize him, Electra."

"What are you? My father?" the engine snapped.

Wrench tuned both men out, focusing on the records. She saw that once Pearl left, the golden coach had activated Electra's little used rejection-coping subroutine, and that had been too much for his computerized mind.

There was a message noting that the programs had not been shut down properly and asked if they needed to be restored. Wrench glanced again at _seduction_ and quickly canceled. After a quick scan of his racing programs, she stepped back. "Clean bill of health."

Electra jerked a satisfied nod. "Good," he said. "Remind me to delete the silly coach from my memory after the race."

"My pleasure," Wrench replied.

Meanwhile, at Electra's words, Purse rolled forward, bowing slightly. "Who will you go with now, Electra?"

"Good question," the engine said darkly.

Volta glided like a swan to stand beside her locomotive. "I can go with you, my love," she purred, her blue lips forming an affectionate smile.

Electra's gaze flicked to her. "How can you?" he sneered. "You have a headache."

Her white face fell.

"I can race, handsome," Joule interjected, maneuvering around the freezer. "You saw the work I did on the French guy's coach, didn't you?"

"Or I can go," Krupp spoke up. "I can punch harder than that observation car ever could."

"Or me," Purse offered, bowing his head. "As an armored car, I am well trained in self-defense, and you know that I hold you in the utmost regard, sir, and - "

"Enough," Electra cut him off, waving him back. His beautiful brow furrowed in thought.

Wrench ran her fingers through her flame-like hair. "I... I can go with you, Electra," she offered. She knew it was a long shot, but who could resist the opportunity when Electra was right there in front of her in all his electric glory?

Naturally, she was correct about her chances. Electra immediately scoffed. "And abandon your new boyfriend?" he mocked. "For shame, Wrench." Suddenly, his eyes changed as if struck by a sudden idea. He turned to the money truck. "Purse, get me Dinah."

Volta folded her arms. "You seem to favor blondes tonight, my love."

"They tend to be prettier, don't they, my cell?" Electra sneered in return before he returned his attention to Purse. "Get Dinah. I'm sure she'll like a chance to get back at her erstwhile engine."

Purse bowed his head, but Wrench caught sight of a grimace on his pale face. "Your will shall be done, sir."

As the money truck retreated, Electra shot Volta a gloating look and waved a hand to dismiss the other components, who immediately obeyed.

Wrench maneuvered around Joule and Krupp, but she had not gone far when she heard Electra call after her: "Be sure to give my regards to your scrap pile, Wrench."

Joule and Volta tittered somewhere behind her.

* * *

Wrench took a track, not caring where it led.

Electra would get the last laugh once he crossed the finish line with Greaseball's abandoned carriage. The press would talk about it for months until the erstwhile diesel champion was the laughingstock across the entire globe. While yet another blonde clung to Electra's designer couplings during the upcoming race, Wrench could do her part to hail in that bright future by riding behind a rusted steamer.

Even if Electra did not yet appreciate her efforts.

She had not gone far when she heard an electronic voice call out her name, and she turned to see Krupp rolling toward her, his strong legs moving with agitated purpose. Wrench could feel the signal from his computer piece pulsating like a throbbing wound. Krupp skidded to a halt in front of her. "What was _that_ back there?" he demanded.

She narrowed her eyes. "What was what?"

His deep electronic voice became decidedly more feminine. "'My steamer is better than your German, Joule,'" he mimicked. "Do you know how you sounded?"

"Clearly, you don't," she replied briskly. "My voice is nowhere near that high."

His gray frown deepened, and she was sure his concealed eyes were glaring daggers behind his sunglasses. "You know," he said tightly, holding his muscular arms akimbo, "I think you've forgotten the whole point of why you're racing with that steam engine."

Wrench stepped around him, continuing on her way. "Don't be ridiculous."

He grabbed her arm. " _I'm_ ridiculous?" he retorted. "It looked like you were doing more than just a routine inspection on that steamer earlier. Then to speak like that about him in front of Electra - "

Wrench coolly grabbed his thumb and yanked her arm free. "I just think Electra should show some gratitude to a model minority," she sniffed, moving away. "It's good for his publicity - I want everyone to know he's amazing both on and off the track. Unlike _some_ engines," she added, and a brief flash of the baleful smile on Greaseball's famous face crossed her mind. "Electra'll certainly need it now that his partner dumped him for the competition."

Krupp did not look convinced. "I'm glad you're so thoughtful," he said dryly. "It would be a shame if you forgot where you would be without Electra's generosity to a diesel truck. Few other electrics would allow you to touch them."

Wrench looked at him sharply. "How could I ever forget?" she said tightly, glaring at the dark lenses. How dare he try to play that card on her.

His gray lips pursed now. "You know, I was there when Electra first opened his eyes," he said, flexing his fingers into fists, "and I was there when he was able to stand on his wheels by himself. I haven't been with that train these three years for some truck to sabotage his chances for a man she just met."

Wrench drew herself up. "I think you're making a lot of assumptions, Krupp."

"Am I?" It was then Krupp did something he rarely ever did. He lowered his sunglasses. Wrench stared back at the piercing green eyes that met her - and she almost looked away. "Suppose," the armaments truck said slowly, his exposed eyes narrowed like slits, "your steamer is about to cross the finish line in front of Electra - "

"It won't come to that," she snapped.

"I hope not. For your sake, my friend," he replied, and he pushed his shades back onto his nose. "Just remember that the next time you dance cheek-to-cheek with a steam train." He spun on his wheels then, heading down an eastward track.

Wrench watched his retreating back, shaking with anger.

* * *

That substandard excuse for a passenger car had no clue what he was talking about, Wrench told herself as she stormed down the track, the oil within her tank boiling. This whole plot had been Krupp's idea, and who was he to question her tactics for getting into the final? Even with riding behind Nintendo, Krupp could not have boasted the devotion she had displayed - who else would have touched the rusted chassis or endure the ridicule for riding behind a steam-powered switcher just for Electra's sake?

Exactly.

 _We'll see who's loyal once Electra is across the finish line_ , Wrench thought darkly. And if she could do some damage to Greaseball and that little gold-haired observation car along the way, Electra might reward her. That male coach would be eating his words within the hour.

Even as her legs worked to pick up speed, propelled by her boiling anger, Wrench mentally kicked herself. Once again, she had gotten carried away that night - and this time for some dumb steam engine she had just met. What had even possessed her to dance with a vehicle that was only a few rust patches shy of a one-way ticket to the junkyard? He wasn't even that physically appealing. Wrench had encountered many handsome men who had paled in comparison with Electra, and Rusty was no nowhere near her top ten.

 _And he's not going to win anyway_ , she told herself. Rusty might be fast, but Krupp was wrong even to suggest he could get ahead of Electra. All Wrench needed that steamer for was to make sure Electra's real competition, Greaseball and Bobo the record-holding TGV, did not steal the spot that rightfully belonged to the superstar. If for some reason Rusty did come in danger of claiming that spot for himself, Wrench was more than happy to do what was necessary, no matter how inviting the steamer's warm embrace had been.

It was then - as if the universe had decided it would have more fun yanking her proverbial chain instead of dealing with the rest of the world's problems - that she was suddenly pulled from her dark thoughts by a very familiar whistle ringing out behind her. Wrench gritted her teeth and turned to see Rusty approaching.

Just perfect.

The steamer zipped in front of her, bringing with him the smell of smoke, and he twisted his body to brake with a tomahawk. "Is Electra okay?" he asked, concern in his hazel eyes as he met her gaze.

"Flawless as ever," she said stiffly, stepping around him. "I'll see you at the starting gate, steam train." She would still race with the switcher out of loyalty to Electra, she told herself, but she would not give Krupp another chance to accuse her of misplaced alliances.

Rusty did not seem to get the hint. The steamer followed after her, pumping his arms to propel himself ahead to meet her eyes. "Hey," he said, still with that concern in his young voice, "do you need me to swing you by the repair shop to get Electra anything?"

That made Wrench slow, and she raised a rivet-lined eyebrow as she turned to face him. "What do _you_ care?" she asked as her dark eyes scanned his seemingly guileless features. Electra had stolen the steamer's coach and was vying for first place against him. Rusty ought to be celebrating his rival's ailments.

However, Rusty rolled his shoulders, grimacing. "Well, I'm not gonna pretend that he's on my Christmas card list," he admitted, and Wrench could hear a hint of flatness in his tone, "but it wouldn't be fair if Electra has to race when he's sick or something."

Wrench stared at him. He was serious. "Electra's fine," she said dumbly. "His computer is programmed to protect itself when it crashes, so turning him off and on again fixed him."

Rusty jerked a nod, looking satisfied. "That's good. Don't know much about computers myself, but..." He glanced at her, and she saw an odd expression cross his face before he looked away quickly in embarrassment.

"What?" she asked.

He rolled his tarnished shoulders. "Can I ask a personal question?"

"Depends what it is."

"Fair enough." He gave a sheepish smile and gestured to his own throat. "Why do you and the other trucks talk like that?"

The question did not surprise her; if anything, Wrench wondered why it had taken him so long to ask. "One of the many perks of my upgrade," she replied, starting up her pace again.

Rusty raised an eyebrow, easily matching her pace. "Upgrade?"

"For the Superstar Project," she answered, spinning around with expert ease to skate backwards as she spoke. For some reason she was actually curious about his reaction. "The other electrics poured a lot of money into making the fastest engine in the world. Electra's whole life has been set up to win this race since before he was even a blueprint," she bragged, the pride in her electronic voice matching the ease in her reverse movements.

Rusty's arms momentarily stopped pumping as he stared at her in disbelief. "They built a guy _just_ for racing?"

"No, they built a guy for what would happen _after_ he raced," Wrench replied, folding her arms as her wheels blindly followed the path the rails provided. "Once Electra dethrones Greaseball, the railroad companies will see that electricity is the better source. This country will be like Europe: electric lines from one coast to the other."

Rusty looked doubtful. "You think so?"

"Railroads want money first and foremost," Wrench answered matter-of-factly. "Once we prove that electric trains can make more than the diesel trains, they'll change."

The steamer rolled his shoulders. He still did not look convinced, but he was obviously trying to stay polite. "And the voices?"

Wrench shrugged. "Electra has the most advanced computer known to man or train. So advanced that it could not be contained in one machine. So, the components of his computer were divided between him and us trucks." She ran her fingertips through the black portion of her multi-colored hair. Beneath the new wig she could still feel the mark in the metal where her head had been opened for the computer piece. "The silly voices are just a side effect."

Rusty gaped at her. "You went through all _that_?"

She shrugged. "You do crazy things for the things you care most about."

"Huh." He grimaced a little. "After all that money they spent, what happens if Electra loses?"

"He won't," she said sharply before she could stop herself. She spun around to face front, quickening her strides.

Rusty rolled up alongside her, easily keeping pace, and Wrench glanced at him to see him gazing up at the sky, seeming to study what little stars were visible. After a moment, he said, "You know, I kinda feel sorry for the guy."

Wrench snorted. "He wouldn't want your pity."

"What I mean is…" He paused as if searching for the right words. "Well, _I'm_ stuck in this yard because it's the only place with coal and a water tower for miles. Electra can't go anywhere that don't got wires. He's like me. He just wants to do the stuff he was built for."

A strange feeling came over Wrench as she studied him. "I suppose," she said softly.

Rusty shook his head. "Shame we both can't win," he said as if half to himself.

 _Why do you have so much compassion for someone who wouldn't lift a finger to help you if the roles were reversed?_

That thought pulled Wrench up short. Where had that come from?

Well, wherever it had, it could go and bury itself. Wrench turned away. "You know I'm starting to feel a bit tired," she said, taking a step to distance herself from the steamer.

"Yeah, it is kinda late," Rusty agreed, giving her that infuriatingly empathetic grin. "Never did understand why Control has the race at night, but what can you do?" he said with a good-natured shrug.

Wrench did not reply. She just kicked off, following the rails wherever they led. She heard Rusty start after her, keeping a casual pace as he chugged along, but she did not look at him. She kept her eyes straight ahead and allowed a scowl to cross her face.

 _I owe him nothing_ , she told herself. Electra held all her allegiance; he had given her a chance when all the other electrics snubbed her. The only reason she stood now with Rusty was because she had foolishly left Electra's side to gawk at his sworn diesel enemy. She did not need to dig a deeper grave for herself by entertaining mutinous notions about some out-of-date switch engine who had fallen on hard times. She would do anything to regain Electra's approval, even crash that stupid steamer if she had to.

...Even if that stupid steamer was ten times more decent than most of the trains she had ever met.

Yet even as these troubling thoughts raced through her mind, another idea surfaced: why did helping Rusty have to be mutually exclusive from helping Electra?

Wrench paused, allowing her wheels to coast, and she felt an immediate spark of inspiration.

That solved everything, didn't it? Her superstar would win (she had no doubt), but Rusty did not have to come in first to make a better life for himself. If he could just place second, he could apply to a museum that specialized in steam-locomotive refurbishment. Wrench could even contact her old professors for recommendations of where to start looking. The triumph of electricity did not equate to the utter annihilation of heritage railroads, and Rusty could fulfill his original purpose by pulling human tourists up and down a scenic route.

All Wrench had to do now was make sure that neither Bobo nor Greaseball stole that spot in second from their much more deserving rival.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she did not immediately register that Rusty had asked her a question. She quickly shook herself. "Huh? What?"

He flashed her that boyish - and kinda cute - grin. "I asked if you wanted something to drink," he laughed. "Guess you could go for a coffee, huh?"

Wrench felt a smile of her own form in return. "It's a date, steam train," she said, grabbing his couplings - and she did not mind the corroded patches so much now.

xxx

.

A/N: Yeah, remember how this show was originally written in the 80s when computers were a lot bigger and having a train with a computer divided between 6 vehicles sounded futuristic? If the show was written today, Electra's computer could probably be contained in just his arm or something.

Speaking of which, a great big special thanks to my dad for helping me out with the computer scene. (He's the kind of guy that designs computer programs.)


	4. Chapter 4

The brunette kitchen car stared at the steamer and his shorter partner as they rolled up, nearly dropping the fresh sugar cookies that she had just pulled from the oven cavity of her metal torso.

Rusty beamed at the yellow coach as he gestured to the repair truck, much like a child showing off his favorite birthday presents to a friend. "Kitty, this is Wrench."

Kitty continued to stare, mouth hanging open like the oven door from which radiated heat on the newcomers. The kitchen car's brown eyes flicked up and down as she studied Wrench, as if taking in the flame-like hair, the white make-up with red streaks, and the blue leotard and silver legs all at once but not knowing what to make of them. However, a quick smile crossed her fair face, and she set the cookies down, closing her oven and removing her oven mitts. She hurriedly gave her lacy apron a quick tug and adjusted the large chef hat which sat on her brown head like an ornate mushroom. Then she extended her dainty hand. "How do you do?" she smiled. "I like your hair, Wrench."

"Thank you," Wrench replied and immediately placed an order for a black coffee with two sugars.

Kitty's mouth twitched once at the abrupt change of subject, but she gave a professional nod and turned to Rusty. "Anything for you, sweetie?"

Rusty looked away. "Nah, I'm good."

The yellow coach shook her brown head, giving him a sympathetic look. "You know that racers get free drinks, right?"

The sooty face became sheepish. "Uh, just a Coke then."

The kitchen car smiled and prepared their drinks, soon handing Wrench a styrofoam cup with a plastic top. As she passed Rusty his paper cup and a wrapped straw, Kitty took a moment to look him up and down. "I heard you're in the final, honey." She sounded amazed. "Guess you got the last laugh, huh?"

"Not 'til I win," Rusty replied cheerfully, "but I will."

The pink lips twitched again. "Just don't get your hopes too high, sweetie," she cautioned. "Winning isn't everything, you know."

Wrench promptly took the steamer's arm. " _ **I**_ have every faith in him," she said and could not resist adding, "Anyone with half a brain can see he's a winner."

The kitchen car immediately flushed. "Well, uh, I gotta get these cookies put away," she said hurriedly and turned back to her still cooling tray.

Rusty guided Wrench pass the midway of food stands, which were staffed mostly by diners and buffet cars of both genders, but the repair truck spotted a milk car and an express freezer selling ice cream. As the pair of partners passed, Wrench saw several vehicles turned their heads toward them and nudged their neighbors, pointing and whispering.

"They just can't take their eyes off you," Wrench observed, giving the steamer a smile.

"I'm pretty hot stuff, aren't I?" he quipped back, rapping his firebox.

Wrench decided against the Joule-like reply she could have given then. The poor steamer's face would have probably been red for a week.

Rusty took a sip of soda, and a thoughtful expression crossed his dirty face. "Hmm, while stuff is still free, maybe I can pick up a few things for Poppa."

Wrench recalled the wrinkled green engine who had saved them from Greaseball. "Poppa" looked to have been pushing triple digits in his expanding age, the exact opposite of the youthful Rusty. "Is he your father?" she asked.

Rusty snorted. "I'm not _that_ old, Wrench," he grinned, his hazel eyes twinkling. "He's my grandfather - well, _step_ -grandfather," he corrected, "but he raised me after my parents were sold to another company. Those boxcars you saw are my cousins through him," he added.

"Good to have family," Wrench replied carefully. As a rusted relic neglected by his current owner, he probably did not have many relatives left in the world.

"You got folks?" he asked.

"Yeah. All of us are work trucks."

"Crane cars?"

"A few, mostly on my dad's side," she replied, recalling the towering crane helmet which had been her father's pride, his sun-damaged paint, and the scent of diesel that always accompanied him. "Haven't seen them much since I started working for Electra. They live in a different terminal," she explained with a shrug. With the life that came with accompanying a busy superstar challenger, there had been little chance to sneak away for a weekend - but her parents had been supportive of her helping Electra. Even though they did not fully understand the need for putting a computer piece inside her head, her family had been proud that one of their own would have a hand in ushering in the golden age for electricity - because if the electric lines excelled, then that meant the work trucks who maintained them would excel.

Meanwhile, Rusty grinned. "You can see them after the race is over," he suggested. "They'll be proud that you're the partner of a champion."

They had reached the end of the food tents, and Wrench saw that beyond them were many low, smooth rock fixtures that lined the small area. They resembled quarter and half pipes and made the area look like a human skate park, which was exactly how some vehicles were using it. Someone had graffitied tracks upon the rocks, and some rolling stock rolled and flipped, performing complex stunts. Wrench noted that most of them were diesel switch engines, but a few freight trucks zipped around them, showing off their prowess.

Wrench watched as one switcher sped up the slope and flipped, twisting as he spun so that when he landed, he was facing the opposite direction. "Ever done anything like that?" she asked Rusty as the distant switcher's companions hooted and jeered.

Rusty gave the skaters a rueful glance. "Not since I was a kid."

A smirk tugged on her mouth. "Was that before or after fossil fuels became fossils?" she could not resist saying.

His eyes shot to her, but she saw laughter inside his hazel-colored gaze. "Hey, not every train can say they had a pet dinosaur," he replied with an exaggerated sniff.

Wrench felt her smile widen. Rusty had to be in his fifties (more than four decades older than herself, she noted), but it was like talking with a vehicle who still had his original warranty. She wondered again how he could be stay so chipper even with his rust patches, but rather than sick fascination for a disaster in progress, now she felt admiration toward him for it.

Rusty pointed toward the railing that overlooked the nearby ditch. "We can sit over there - " he started to say, but the steamer was cut off by a smug, malicious voice.

"Well, look what the animal truck dragged in."

Rusty whirled around, a look of panic on his face, and Wrench followed suit to see a diesel engine standing on the track they had just rolled down. He wore no helmet now, but Wrench recognized his paint design as belonging to one of the engines who had been with Greaseball earlier.

"How's Rusty the Slow Man doing?" smirked the engine in black paint. He was not as tall as the other diesels, but Wrench saw the brown-haired man had muscles, which he flexed threateningly as he rolled forward.

The steamer glowered at him, but he took a step back. "I ain't looking for trouble, Gook," he said, and he touched Wrench's arm as if ready to yank her away.

Wrench saw the coaches around them suddenly look away, as if they had simultaneously noticed something much more absorbing in their stalls. The repair truck kept her face calm, but she fingered the lid of her coffee cup, ready to sling its hot contents into the engine's eyes if it became necessary.

If only she had thought to bring her hammer with her instead of leaving her tool box on Electra's track...

Gook closed the distance between them with swaggering strides, and he reached over and plucked the Coke from Rusty's hands. "Carbin' up before Greaseball mops the race track with you?" he asked. "My brother and I got a bet goin', Slow Man. Tank says you're gonna crash head first into a ditch, but I say you're gonna choke, crash head first into a ditch, and _then_ blame your partner for it." He gave a nasty laugh before he took a long, exaggerated quaff from Rusty's drink.

Wrench nudged the steamer's arm. "I don't think you'll want that back, Rusty," she said. "You don't know where he's been."

Gook looked sharply at her, and his oily face contorted into a leer. "Pretty big talk for a little lady."

"I can do more than just talk, sweetie," Wrench returned, adjusting her grip on the lid as her mind went over where the different pressure points for pain were on locomotives. She suddenly wished she had Electra's ability to shoot electricity at his enemies.

Gook gave a derisive snort. "You're gonna soon find out you picked a loser, toots." He turned back to Rusty, and his leer widened. "At the Christmas race you were slower than a snail in peanut butter, remember?" the diesel mocked. "You gonna choke again in the final, Slow Man?"

Rusty's jaw clenched. "I did _not_ choke," he said through his teeth.

Gook barked a laugh. "Yeah, it's never your fault, is it, Slow Man? How did that song go?" he asked, tapping his chin as if he were pretending to remember, but his eyes never lost their malicious glitter. "Oh, yeah. _Rusty the Slow Man couldn't hurry on his way. No, he couldn't run, 'cause he's no fun. Blamed for his truck for his delay_ \- "

"At least he's actually _entered_ the race," Wrench interrupted with a drawl, not caring to hear Gook butcher an already annoying Christmas song. "I don't see you representing diesel. Why? Afraid to go up against Grampa Greaseball?"

Gook's smirk became a scowl, and fire entered his eyes. "I can't wait to see what Greaseball does to you two. He's already talked about a few ideas with us."

"We're shaking," Wrench retorted, glad that her electronic voice gave her tone an edge.

The diesel's eyes flicked back to Rusty, and he lowered his voice conspiratorially, "He also has some ideas of what he wants to do to Pearl later tonight." He winked at the steamer.

Wrench was immediately obliged to grab Rusty's arm, sloshing droplets of coffee as the steamer nearly flew at the diesel engine. "Take it - Take it back - " he choked, his face becoming red.

Gook sneered and flexed his fists. "Wanna have a go, Slow Man?" he menaced, drawing himself up to his full height.

Wrench's thumb went to the lid of her cup.

However, before either man could do anything, a feminine voice rang out, "Gook Oilson, there you are!"

The diesel engine froze, and Wrench looked around him to see Kitty the kitchen car skating toward them. Her feminine eyebrows were arched in an unhappy look, and she held her slim yellow arms akimbo as she rolled. The brunette coach braked beside the diesel locomotive with a pout. "I am so mad at you right now," she said as she latched onto his dusty arm. "I wore these old rags especially for you, darling, and you haven't given me one glance all evening." She patted her mushroom-like chef's hat for emphasis.

Gook stared blankly at the kitchen car, as if he had never expected to receive attention from such a pretty, lacy carriage, but then a satisfied smirk appeared. He ran his fingers through his messy hair. "You look real cute, Kitty Cat."

Her fake pout deepened in a way that most men probably thought was appealing, and she gave him a tug. "Then come over here and talk to me instead of some steam train, honey boy. You're making me feel neglected."

Gook's chest seemed to swell as he stepped after the kitchen car, and Wrench saw Kitty give them a sympathetic look over her shoulder before she headed arm-in-arm with the swaggering diesel, guiding him over to where the switchers and freight trucks were stunt skating.

As Gook left, still holding Rusty's Coke, Wrench heard him hum, " _Thumpity thump thump. Thumpity thump thump. Rusty couldn't go..._ "

* * *

Wrench saw the food-service coaches in the stalls had gone back to their tasks, but the murmurs around them were awkwardly hushed. She remembered again the stories from the electric engines about diesel behavior, and she wondered how common tense scenes were in this world-famous yard.

Wrench nudged Rusty, nodding after Kitty's yellow back as the kitchen car cuddled close to Gook. "I'd like to see you solve your problems that way."

Rusty shrugged her off. "Knock it off, Wrench." His face was still flushed, and he stared after Gook with a baleful heat; no doubt he was still thinking about the diesel engine's insinuations against Pearl's virtue.

For some reason, that annoyed Wrench. She touched his arm. "Are you okay?"

The bubbling in his boiler increased as he spat out, "Fine. Just fine." He turned and headed for the nearest guardrail, and his smoke turned a darker shade of black. "We can sit over here."

She started to roll after him - and she stopped, struck by a sudden idea, and rolled over to one of the food stands. She asked the male kitchen car, whose name tag read Kappa, for another Coke to replace the one Gook had taken. The brown-haired coach handed her the cup but did not even meet her eye, seemingly too interested in the plastic tablecloth that covered his stand.

With cups in both hands, Wrench rejoined Rusty, who had already sank onto the red-and-yellow striped fixture. "Don't let that jerk get to you," she told him as she braked. " _You_ made it to final. He didn't even enter the race."

Rusty exhaled through his teeth as he accepted the cup. "Try telling that to everyone else," he said bitterly as he hit his straw against his leg to remove it from the paper wrapper. "All they think I can do is mess up."

"Forget them," Wrench insisted as she sat beside him, nearly sloshing her hot coffee over her hand with the movement. "What do any of them know about mechanics?"

Rusty just made a face. "Don't stop them, do it?" he asked before he took a long sip, as if that were his way of dropping the subject.

Wrench looked down at the dark liquid in her hand, swirling it a little even though the sugar had no doubt mixed by now. "What's the Christmas race?" she asked. "I don't think I ever saw that on T.V."

"You wouldn't," Rusty answered flatly. "It's this race that Control does every year to determine who in our yard pulls 'Santa' from station to station. It's not as glamorous as the world race, so I guess Control doesn't see it as that big a deal to pull out cameras, but anyone can come watch. Greaseball did last year - unfortunately," he added darkly.

Wrench saw his eyes trail over to the stunt skaters. Gook had joined them, now showing off for the kitchen car who watched him with a fake smile, as if mentally counting the minutes until she could drop the act and bolt.

Wrench looked at his contorted features. "What happened?" she asked.

"I was robbed." He paused a moment, and Wrench saw his grip tighten on his paper cup, causing the ice to protest as it shifted inside. "I had this friend - at least, I _thought_ he was my friend," he said bitterly. "He was a caboose. Named C.B."

"Catchy," she replied. "He raced with you?"

Rusty jerked a nod. "We were all going uphill, me and the diesels," he explained. "We were supposed to get onto the mechanical bridge - that big one that moves, you know? It was supposed to take us to the upper level - if we got there in time."

"Because that is completely safe," Wrench interjected dryly, studying the once sweet hazel eyes which had gone dark. She inched a little closer to him. "I'm guessing something went wrong."

Rusty swirled his cup, and his smoke came out in larger puffs. "I tried to go faster, but no matter what I did, I couldn't move myself forward enough," he grumbled, his voice tightening, "and the gate to the bridge closed before I could get there. Tank, Gook, and all the diesels finished, and I didn't." He exhaled a long breath. "Then I found out that C.B. had put his brake on and slowed me down on purpose."

"Did you tell anybody?" she asked although she already guessed the answer.

He threw up his hands, nearly spilling soda. "Nobody would believe me. C.B. was friends with everybody in the yard, so they all started to say I just choked."

Wrench frowned. She recalled Krupp chancing a scandal by releasing Nintendo, but what did a caboose have to gain by picking on a steamer? "Why would he risk getting caught to do that to you?" she said aloud.

His pistons hissed as his fingers tightened their grip on the now crinkled cup. "I think he was promised something," he said softly. "Control had been selling off his cabooses to replace them with those end-of-the-train devices - does your line got those?" he asked.

"On a few trains," she admitted, "but our cabooses have a good union." The so-called revolutionary devices were a third-rail topic among rolling stock since their invention nearly two decades ago in the 1980s. The EOT device could be hung on the last freight truck on a train, and it would do a caboose's job of monitoring the other trucks - but it came at the cost of many cabooses being dismissed from the companies they had spent their whole lives on. "I take it Control treats his cabooses as well as his steamers," Wrench observed.

Rusty made a scoffing sound. "Still don't make what C.B. did right," he growled. "After the race, C.B. went off to a museum to retire, and my cousin, Rocky Three, found out that Greaseball had put in a recommendation for him."

"That would do it," Wrench agreed, shaking her head. Was tormenting this man just some sick sport to the reigning diesel champion?

She shifted a little more closer to him. Despite his youthful appearance, she could see the etches on his skin from where work in all weathers had left its mark, painted over by some hasty hand. She reflected that within a few months his face could be refurbished by an expert museum mechanic - if he could just make second place in the final. "You know," she said as soothingly as her electronic voice would allow her, "if Greaseball went through all that trouble to disqualify you, he's probably afraid of what you can do."

"Or he's just a jerk," Rusty retorted flatly.

Wrench shook her head. "Look at me," she said. "The electric engines said I wouldn't be much of a mechanic because of my diesel tank. They still don't think that I should be here with the superstar challenger who they all look up to. But if I had listened to them, I'd still be fixing tracks on some branch line in the hot sun all day." _And I wouldn't be here to help you_. "So, when I say you have potential, you _have_ potential," she finished.

"I guess," Rusty mumbled, but he continued to glower down at his cup as if he were trying to nuke it with the heat of his glare. "But if I can't even defend myself against a bunch of cheaters, how could I have thought I'd protect - " He stopped short.

Wrench felt a flicker of annoyance. "Pearl?" she guessed.

He took another sip of soda in response.

Wrench scowled - though she did not know why her oil suddenly grumbled inside her. "It was better that you didn't race with her, you know."

His jaw clenched. "I know," he answered quietly. "At least she's... safer with Greaseball," he finished with obvious difficulty as if the words choked him.

Why did he still care about that gilded flake? On a sudden impulse she laid her hand on his arm, giving him a look. "Good thing you found a woman who can take care of herself on the track - and you," she added, letting her fingers glide against the untarnished metal between his rust patches.

She felt him stiffen, and his eyes widened as a flush crept over his weathered face. She heard the bubbling within his boiler. "Wrench, I - "

Suddenly, a loud crash echoed across the hills, mixed with a female shriek, which caused both of them to jolt and whirl around.

The first thing Wrench saw was Kitty's chef hat dropping with its owner, and the kitchen car was on her knees beside a mass of black metal sprawled on the ground.

In an instant Rusty started forward, and Wrench barely managed to grab his couplings in time. Within seconds, they were standing over the moaning diesel engine, who laid on his side.

"Gook, are you okay?" Rusty cried, dropping to one knee beside Kitty.

"You tell me, steam train," the diesel engine snarled, sucking in air through his teeth. Wrench immediately saw that he clutched his wrist, which was sticking out at an odd angle, as did his left foot. The rest of his metal body was covered in dents.

Despite her dislike for the diesel brute, her professionalism clicked on, and she looked around at the rolling stock who were creeping forward. "Everybody, back up!" Wrench barked, taking charge of the situation, before she sank next to Gook on the other side.

"He lost his balance," Kitty cried as Wrench prodded the dented frame. Her fair face had turned white.

Wrench looked at Gook. "Can you stand on your good foot?" she asked.

The locomotive gritted his teeth. "Maybe." He prompted himself up onto his elbow, grunting, and Rusty grabbed his other arm. Within moments both engines were on their wheels, and Rusty slung the diesel's arm over his shoulders.

"The repair shop's not far, Gook," Rusty told him - as if the diesel had not just tormented him moments before - and he started forward as carefully as he could with his groaning cargo.

"Show's over, people," Wrench told the murmuring crowd before she followed after the two engines.

* * *

Gook could not move too fast without his injured appendages protesting, and he could not put too much weight on Rusty's corroded body without the steamer sucking air through his teeth. So, between the two engines, they made a slow trek to the repair shop even with Wrench helping to prop up Gook on his other side. When the brick structure of the repair shop at last came into view as they emerged from a tunnel, the crane car detected obvious relief in both men.

Within moments they reached the door, and soon a team of repair trucks escorted Gook inside. The diesel engine did not even give the steamer a look of thanks as the doors closed behind him.

One repair truck, a male tool car with blond hair, stopped to talk to Wrench to find out what had happened. When the crane car finished detailing the accident, the tool car said, "It was a good thing a repair truck was on the scene."

Wrench's dark eyes slid to the steamer beside her. "It was a good thing I had my engine with me," she said, allowing a hint of unprofessional warmth to seep into her electronic voice.

The tool car turned his head and blinked at the steamer as if seeing him for the first time. "Hey, you're that Crusty, right?"

"Uh, Rusty," the brown-haired man corrected, looking down at his corroded feet which had clearly not been inspected by one of Control's mechanics in many a moon.

The blond truck gave him a sweeping glance. "Good luck in the race," the tool car said - but Wrench thought she heard a trace of doubt in his voice - and the male mechanic turned on his front wheel to enter the building.

As the door shut, the two partners rolled away from the brick building, heading toward the tunnel they had taken. Wrench checked her computer clock. Less than twenty minutes to race time. "We should probably head to the starting gate soon," she advised.

"And quick," Rusty agreed, looking around in sudden concern. "If I know Control, he probably saw us on the security cameras and then told Gook's brother - "

He was promptly cut off by the thundering of several sets of wheels echoing in the distance. The two partners stepped to the side in time as the illuminated helmets of several black-colored diesels engines appeared along with the figures of a taller yellow locomotive and a gold-colored coach. The pack of vehicles charged for the repair shop, but one of the taller, dirtier locomotives charged ahead of the group.

None of the gang looked at the steamer and crane car as they braked in front of the building, but the one in front barely slowed, heading straight for the door, but he at last obliged to come to a screeching halt as a pair of repair trucks emerged.

"Where is he?" the taller locomotive demanded. He tore off his black helmet to reveal a dirty, angry face that resembled the injured engine inside. "Where's Gook?"

One of the mechanics, a female inspection car with red hair and spectacles, stepped in front of him. "Easy, Tank, easy!"

"Let me through!" Tank snarled, trying to maneuver around her, but the repair truck did not budge.

"Your brother's with the mechanics," she assured the frantic locomotive in a calm, but authoritative, voice. "We have a place for family to wait. Just calm down." The inspection car held up her hands, showing Tank could not pass until he had obeyed the instructions.

The other repair truck, a male detector car with brown hair, turned to the other engines and the blonde coach. "The rest of you will have to wait outside."

Wrench touched Rusty's shoulder, and he nodded. There was no point sticking around with a bunch of bored, baleful brutes.

The steamer started off, but even though he made an effort to silent his chugging, Wrench saw Pearl turn from Greaseball's black couplings. The gold coach looked from the steamer to the repair truck, and her pretty cream-like face took on an expression that bordered between surprise and guilt. Pearl shot Rusty an empathetic look despite the engine being focused on the track ahead, but it made Wrench instantly tightened her grip on the rusted holdings, pulling herself closer to the steamer. _My engine is gonna beat yours, Goldilocks_.

Unfortunately, Pearl's disconnection caught her diesel engine's attention, and Greaseball turned his well-groomed head.

Wrench expected the locomotive to sick his gang on the departing pair, but the diesel celebrity did not seem ready to antagonize them in front of a repair shop filled with witnesses. However, that did not stop the smirk that crossed his smug face. "See you in the race, Rusty. Toots," Greaseball called after them.

Rusty quickly picked up his speed. Wrench faced forward, ignoring both the diesel and the urge to do something less than classy with her fingers.

* * *

They had only gone a little ways from the repair shop when Wrench finally broke the silence. "That was something you did back there for Gook."

Rusty shrugged between pumps of his arms, still facing forward. "It's basic decency."

 _Basic decency doesn't include not gloating over your enemies_ , Wrench thought as she watched the puffs of smoke from his cap ascend into the air. How often had he been tormented by Gook because of that chimney? And yet, she had seen genuine concern in his warm hazel eyes when he had knelt beside Gook back at the scene of the wreck. "If I weren't a repair truck, I don't think I would have helped him so quickly in your place," she admitted.

Rusty looked over his shoulder, and she saw him roll his eyes. "Well... Poppa would've done it," he exhaled. "He always says to do the right thing, even if you get nothing for it." He shook his brown head. "Not my favorite of his sayings though."

"You're a better train than me, Gunga Dinn."

As they rounded a corner, Rusty shot a dark look toward the repair shop. "Bet none of them will remember it in the morning," he grumbled.

"Forget them," she said, touching his corroded arm. "You're the one who is going to cross the finish line ahead of Greaseball - and then you'll finally get that rust treated." _I'll make sure of it_ , she added silently.

To Wrench's surprise, Rusty suddenly slowed, and the crane car released his couplings as the steamer turned toward her with an uncomfortable expression. "Wrench, I don't want to give you the wrong idea about me or nothing," he said, rubbing his neck.

She raised a decorative eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

He looked away. That familiar flush started to creep along his face. "I mean, I like you as a friend, but Pearl... With her..." He swallowed and rolled his shoulders. "...I can touch the starlight."

Wrench felt her jaw tighten.

The steamer gave a little pump of his arm though he remained in place. "I'm awful grateful for what you've done for me," he continued, "but I don't want you to think that I - that you and me are - "

Wrench held up her hand, cutting him short. "Simmer down there, engine. I think you're making a lot of assumptions."

His head snapped toward her in surprise, and for a moment he looked like a fish with a hook in his mouth. He cleared his throat. "I just mean - "

Wrench maneuvered around him. "What gave you the idea that you're even my type?" she asked coldly. "See you at the starting gate, steam train."

She heard him start after her, his pistons chugging as best as they could with the rust - which only fifteen minutes ago she had been prepared to help him cure. "I'm not trying to hurt your feelings, Wrench," he insisted. "And you don't have to go with me into the final if you don't want to. I can always ask one of the Rockies if they'll go. Poppa'll convince them."

"No, I'll race with you," she sniffed. She knew she was acting childishly, but if Rusty could still want that six-month-old Barbie doll after all her two-timing and three-timing... Wrench looked over her shoulder and gave him a bitter smirk. "Unlike Pearl, I actually keep my promises."

He frowned. "Now, that's not fair - " he started to say, but a deep, electronic voice cut him off.

"Electra requires your presence, repair truck."

Rusty started, and Wrench turned front to see Krupp a few feet away from her, frowning. However, she was glad for the interruption. She quickly rolled beside the male coach. "Is his computer okay?"

Krupp's mouth twisted. "It's best to go see what he wants instead of wasting time with questions."

"I agree," she said loftily, stepping around him. Without a parting look toward the steamer, she started down the track in the lead, and Krupp took her couplings.

* * *

Purse and Volta stood together at the end of the track as Wrench and Krupp rolled up. Wrench saw the freezer's blue lips formed a tight smile at the sight of the approaching pair. "It might be prudent to announce your presence, Wrench," the freezer truck said. "Wouldn't want to intrude on anything."

Purse scoffed. "I don't think he'll be _that_ absorbed, Volta," the brown-haired money truck countered. "That dining car has been fishing for compliments since she got here, and you know how he feels about the clingy ones."

"She probably hopes he'll toot his horn at her," the freezer answered with a cold laugh, moving back to allow Wrench access to the track. Volta pulled out a compact, boredly looking at her reflection to check her elegant black-and-white hair - but Wrench saw her shoot a withering glare down the line toward her unseen lover.

Wrench kept her expression neutral as she rolled down the rails by herself, but her heart quickened. Now that she was alone, she realized she did not know what kind of mood Electra would be in. He would not have called her all the way here just because he was furious with her - would he?

Within moments she spotted the shining superstar, who had his back to her as he stood overlooking the view offered from the stretching mountainous region. Beside him, obviously trying to get a look from him, was his new partner and Greaseball's erstwhile girlfriend, Dinah the dining car.

Wrench knew Dinah from the race footage she had analyzed with Electra, and the blue coach always looked like a living dining table on wheels. Some kind of ruffled coffee filter had been made into a tiara to crown the petite coach's blonde curls. Dinah wore a checkered tablecloth that was arranged into an overskirt with a lacy underskirt peeking out beneath its riveted hem. Folded napkins were arranged around her chest, and a frilly, white place mat tucked into her black-and-silver belt that gave the impression of an apron.

The dining car played with a curl, staring at her new partner with imploring green eyes. "It's such a nice night, Electra," she said, her voice thick with a Tennessean accent. "Don't you want to see the sights?"

"If there were any to see, I would," the electric engine replied dryly.

The coach's blonde eyebrows arched, and she seemed like she wanted to say something, but Wrench decided that now was a good time to interrupt. The crane car came to a halt twenty feet away from the couple and cleared her throat, making a broken electronic sound.

Electra turned his head. His painted features betrayed nothing, whether positive or negative, and he waved a red hand at his fair-haired partner. "Give us a moment," he told the blue dining car in a tone that made it clear it was not a request.

Dinah gave him an unhappy look, but she nodded and skated down the track, smoothing down her checkered half-skirt.

Alone now, Electra made a slow turn, facing the shorter crane car. "I've been hearing quite a lot about you since you left, Wrench." He pushed himself forward in a regal glide. Wrench tensed, half expecting him to send her a shock of electricity, but to her surprise, his blue lips spread into a smile that revealed his white teeth. "Krupp told me your plan for racing with the steamer."

Wrench straightened her shoulders. "Did he now?" From the look of Electra's beam, Krupp had actually backed her up instead of throwing her to wolves. She silently thanked the male coach, but those thoughts happily evaporated as Electra's blue eyes sparkled at her in that way which could always melt her heart.

"I value loyalty on my train, Wrench," the engine said as he closed the gap between them with a movement as smooth as silk. He brought with him the aroma of that wonderful cologne. "You have pleased me."

She recovered her voice as she tilted her head back to meet his stunning eyes. "I'd do anything for you, Electra."

"I know," he said with that warmth he had given her so often during routine inspections in her work shop. "A momentary slip-up shouldn't eclipse years of loyalty." With that he laid a red hand against her white cheek.

Her breath hitched, and her heart increased as if she had just finished a race. Her legs felt like jelly, but she somehow kept her balance, absorbed in studying his wonderful face that had a look of affection just for her. It might not be anything like what he gave Volta, but it was enough to make her want to risk everything by giving him a kiss.

His thumb stroked her cheek, gentle as a butterfly. "My own Wrench," he murmured. "Always there, even when I misuse you. Don't think I have never noticed. After I am crowned King of the Track, you will be rewarded greatly, my friend."

She leaned into his touch. "I don't need a reward," she said softly.

"But you will get it," he promised, still letting his digit glide along her skin in mesmerizing caresses. "You just need to do one little thing for me, my faithful truck."

"Anything," she breathed.

His hand lowered. She felt a rush of disappointment, but she tried to hide it as Electra's smile widened. "It's about your plan to take out the competition."

Wrench straightened her shoulders. "I can take them both out," she affirmed. "Greaseball and Bobo won't be crossing the finish line at all - or Pearl," she ventured to add.

To her surprise, Electra suddenly scoffed. "Bobo is nothing. His wooden coach is weak and will probably splinter before the first bend. As for Greaseball and Pearl - I have my own plans for them." His blue eyes suddenly flashed, but he quickly recovered his smile.

"Then what should I do?"

Electra tilted his magnificent head, looking down at her with all the grace, beauty, and magnetism that came to him so naturally. "I want you to disqualify the steamer."

Her heart stopped. She looked him dead in the eye, briefly hoping her ears had been damaged even though she knew she was in prime condition. "Disqualify?" she repeated.

Electra jerked a nod, causing his headpiece to shake. "You saw how he was able to slip around the others," he reminded her. "What would it look like if that piece of rubbish got ahead of me, even for a second?" He shook his head, and his painted lip curled into a sneer. "Imagine if he crossed the finish line first. I would never be able to show my face on any railroad again."

"He's no one, Electra," she said quickly.

"Of course, he's no one," Electra replied, and his grin became shark like, "and yet you're defending him in deliberate defiance toward me."

She shook her head, trying to appear calm and reasonable even though her stomach knotted. "Not defiance. Never. But if I'm caught sabotaging my partner, then that will create a scandal for you."

"Then see that you don't get caught." Suddenly, his eyes softened, and his hand touched her arm with the same affection he had shown her when he had taken her to the city for her birthday. "I know it is risky, Wrench, but I reward loyalty. Once I win, the rails will become an electric empire."

She tried again. "I don't care about riches, Electra. I just - "

The warmth disappeared once more. "Does your little crush on the steamer mean more to you than me?"

Wrench looked at him sharply. "Of course not," she said, feeling her heart hardened. Rusty meant nothing to her. Even if she did help him - even if he was refurbished by her own hand - he would just run into the arms of Pearl the second the observation car gave him a glance. What loyalty could she have to a man so pathetically lovesick for some blonde bimbo?

She straightened her shoulders. "I'll do whatever it takes to you make you happy, Electra."

"That's my girl." Then he did something he had never done before - he leaned down and kissed her cheek. The touch was firm and longer than what he would have normally done, sending an electrifying thrill through the crane car, and she had to keep herself from grabbing him for support. Finally, he drew back. "Now, go find your steamer."

Breathlessly, she nodded and spun on her wheels, ready to conquer the world for her beloved.

However, he called after her. "Oh - and, Wrench?"

She slowed and looked over her shoulder. "Yes, Electra?"

His elegantly painted lips formed a cold smile. "If you fail, don't bother coming back."

* * *

.

A/N:

Yes, Kitty has seen _Gone with the Wind_. Why do you ask?

Since CB doesn't appear in the London revamp, I came up with my own explanation for his disappearance. The choreography Rusty describes (with CB keeping him from reaching the mechanical bridge) is actually based on how CB sabotages him in the original London show.


	5. Chapter 5

Ever since she was a little train, Wrench had been fascinated by the variety of mechanical tracks used in the championship races. When she had watched it on television, in between races there would be footage of the different things the tracks could do, and rolling stock came from all over just to see the novelty rails, from the bridges that could spin like turntables to the box-like trestles that could rise and fall like an elevator. Yet as Wrench leaned now against a trussed structure, watching fleets of work trucks pulled by switchers navigate their way over the uphill course for last-minute inspections, the crane car felt no joy witnessing the technological marvels.

She had left Electra's track in a hurry after she had been dismissed, rolling past the blue dining car, who looked decidedly frustrated, and Volta, who did not seem to have a kind glance for her carriage replacement. Purse had called after Wrench, but she had not slowed - and as she had passed Krupp, sitting cool but alert on a guard rail, he had given her a grim, knowing nod.

Now, Wrench stared up at the intricate beams of the different fixtures, doing her best to focus on the race track which she would soon be zooming across, but, as much as she tried to ignore it, her mind kept returning to Electra's cold gaze.

Along with the ultimatum that still rang in her ears.

 _He's just stressed_ , she assured herself. After the humiliation he had been subjected to, both by his components and by Pearl leaving him - and coming in second place to that diesel engine in his elimination heat - of course he would be testy. He would not have threatened her if his evening had gone smoothly and if he did not have the fate of all American electrics resting on his shoulders. After all, how many electric engines and their wives had come up to him to ask him to take pictures with their children because he was their hope? How would those parents react to their hero if he should lose tonight? It was only natural for Electra to be on edge with that kind of pressure.

Though she knew Electra's better nature, she also knew that after everything that had happened to him he would see it as an act of betrayal if she did not at least try to obey him. _And Electra is so kind to those he cares for_ , Wrench reminded herself. Electra was a good boss and a good friend who had taken a chance on a diesel mechanic when the other electrics insisted he take a different employee. She would move heaven and earth to please a train like him.

All she had to do was just ruin Rusty's life.

 _What could that fool even give me?_ The steamer was nobody going nowhere fast, a relic from the past who was too stupid to give up his hopes for a gilded, shallow little girl who dumped him for a better electric man - and then dumped that better electric man for a despicable diesel. If Rusty could be loyal to such a girl, it was his loss - and if he got in Electra's way, it was Wrench's duty to clear the superstar's track.

 _And a platonic friendship with Electra is better than risking everything for a man who wouldn't want me anyway - even if I did want him_. Which she didn't.

As she stood there brooding, her synthetic ears suddenly picked up the sound of slow chugging. She turned her head and was greeted by the sight of a figure in faded brown with ambling smoke puffing from his cap.

Rusty's grandfather.

Poppa waved as their eyes met, flashing her a white-toothed smile that could be seen even at a distance. "There you are, Miz Wrench," he beamed. "Rusty wanted me to tell you he would be a little late."

Wrench raised an eyebrow. "Where is he?"

The old man's brown eyes seemed to darken. "Control sent him on an errand - as if the boy wasn't about to enter the race of all races." He shook his whitening head, but then he seemed to recover his good mood. He jabbed a thumb toward the race track. "You's quite a ways from the starting gate, Miz Wrench. Can I give you a lift?"

Wrench did not even glance at the aging limbs. "Think you should risk it?"

"I haul my boxcar boys everywhere, and you don't look like you weigh as much as them," the old man quipped, but Wrench noticed that his dark eyes had an odd look as he regarded her. He turned his couplings to her. "C'mon. It ain't too far for me."

Wrench opened her mouth to say no, but she briefly saw a flash of Electra's cold eyes. With reluctance she hitched onto the old man's belt. Delaying the inevitable would not help her tonight.

The elderly engine started off with a huff and a hiss, and he chugged down the track, pumping his arms in a slow but steady motion. The smell of his coal-enriched smoke reminded Wrench of Rusty - and she put a stop to those unwelcome thoughts by focusing her mind on an image of Electra soaring over the finish line, taking his rightful place as the superstar champion.

Unfortunately, Poppa McCoy's deep and kind voice broke its way through the wall of her cogitations: "Rusty spoke very highly of you, Miz Wrench."

Wrench bit back the comment she wanted to make and instead replied, "I'm sure he did." Right after he got done gushing about his Barbie coach.

Poppa turned his head to look back as best as he could. "I'm much obliged toward what you're doing for my boy," he continued. "If you ever need something, it's yours."

Wrench looked away. "I'm not doing much."

"But it's 'much' for him," Poppa insisted, and his pistons chugged a little faster. "He's a good boy. This race will give him the chance he needs to get fixed up again."

Wrench scoffed softly. "Well, he's not the only one counting on a victory," she pointed out. "The other three racers have their reasons for racing too." Such as the entire future for electric engines and their families.

Poppa made an odd noise. "Yeah, Rusty told me about your electric feller." He rubbed his neck - much like his grandson did. "Well, I don't know too much about the modern 'lectric folks, but I raced against a few DC boys in my day. I can understand the need to do what it takes to help your family."

 _Would you still say that if you knew what I'm about to do to your family?_ Wrench released his couplings. "I can make it the rest of the way. Thank you."

Poppa turned with a look of surprise. "Ain't no trouble. My flame is burning bright right now," he said as a sleepy stream of smoke trickled out of his cap.

Wrench skated around him. "But they don't let just anyone into the starting gate area," she argued quickly - and she had a sudden idea, "and it would be best for you to get to a public place with that diesel gang roaming around."

The steamer suddenly looked grave. "Yeah, you're right." He shook his whitening head, sending his smoke up in a sloppy serpentine shape. "Them poor boys can't right help themselves, can they?"

Wrench had started to take swift strides toward her destination, but at that last comment, she braked and turned. "Say that again?"

Poppa shrugged. "Well, oil burns hotter than water, don't it?"

"Yes."

"I always thought that's why so many get such nasty tempers. Their heads get too hot, and they can't think right. They could use a drink of water now and then."

Wrench thought of the stories she had grown up hearing about diesel engines bullying electric engines and stealing their tracks - and never once had she ever come up with such a bizarre idea. "It's a little more complicated than that," Wrench sniffed.

He gave a half grin. "Well, I ain't a repair truck either, so forgive an old man for putting his wheels in his mouth."

Wrench remembered how quick Rusty had been to help Gook simply because his grandfather told him it was the right thing to do. Was that all based on a faulty idea of how diesel engines worked? "You would give a cup of water to a diesel engine even after all that they do to your grandson?" she asked, incredulous.

He shrugged again, but for a moment his eyes hardened. "I ain't gonna pretend that what they do is right, but I'd rather Rusty always be the better man."

Wrench shook her head. "Don't you think that could lead to being too tolerant?" she pointed out. "Not very loyal to steam, is it?"

Poppa blinked, raising an eyebrow. "Loyalty don't mean you don't do the right thing when you gotta." His eyes trailed to the race track beside them, and he pointed to a consist of switchers heading down a grade. "I remember when all that would be done by steam-powered boys, but being mean to diesels ain't gonna bring the steamers back. It'd just make steamers look bad if I tried to hurt them."

Wrench recalled the gadgets in Electra's hands which could shoot electricity at his opponents. The engines who had commissioned him had put those in specifically to use on Greaseball. They had trained Electra to punch and ram racers who got too close and to do anything and everything to make sure that he crossed the finish line ahead of the diesel champion, including shock carriages and cause them to uncouple from their engines. Wrench tried to imagine what Electra's builders would say if they could hear this coal-powered coot.

However, before she could form a response, a steam whistle rang out, reverberating across the surrounding rock face. She turned and saw the rusted switcher coming toward them, looking annoyed and hurried. "Sorry, I'm late," Rusty greeted them, sounding stress. He braked beside Wrench. "Control had me deliver shampoo to Bobo's track. As if he didn't have a whole _fleet_ of switchers to do it."

"How you feel, son?" Poppa asked, rolling up to the younger engine.

"Well, besides the earful I got from Ashley about the race being too dangerous, I'm pretty good," Rusty cracked, rolling his hazel eyes which then fell upon Wrench. He visibly swallowed. "You ready?" he asked, a hint of anxiety seeping into his voice that had not been there before.

"I was built ready," Wrench replied in a monotone and took his couplings.

* * *

Two switch engines in yellow jerseys with shoulder pieces painted to resemble checkered flags stood guard at the gate. They nodded to Rusty when the partners were just feet away, but to Wrench's surprise, Rusty suddenly slowed. A troubled expression etched his boyish features as he turned to face her. "Wrench, can I just say something real quick?"

Wrench shrugged, feigning disinterest. "I won't stop you."

He looked down at his race helmet, fiddling with its chassis. He took a deep breath. "I really am grateful for... for everything, Wrench." He looked like he had no experience with this sort of situation. After a few moments of obvious deliberation, he blurted out, "Truth is, well, nobody in this yard ever thought I could race except Poppa and Pearl - and you. I think you're a great train."

Wrench said nothing.

He gave her a sheepish smile. "But, you know, the champion team gets to go on a victory tour across the country for two weeks. Poppa made Control promised he'd provide the coal and water I'll need if I win." His face became wistful. "I've always wanted to travel from coast to coast - and it'll be fun if I have a good friend like you coming along." He looked at her expectantly.

Although she kept her expression cool, an odd feeling rippled over Wrench as she saw the friendship in his gaze. He was serious about this. Rusty believed in his dream so much that he took it for granted that she would be part of his victory trip. It would be cruel to steal that dream away.

 _But he won't win_. Whether second or last, he would not be the champion - and he would not be in a position to help Wrench if Electra fired her. He would not have the power to help her find work anywhere on the railroad.

What made Rusty's life and happiness worth throwing away her own?

"We should go," she said curtly, pointing toward where the track marshals watched them.

The light in his eyes dimmed a little, but he nodded and allowed her to re-hitch before he pulled her into the tunnel.

The other three racers and their partners were already in line waiting. Bobo and his brown smoking car were at the back, sharing a cigarette and seemingly oblivious to the rest of the world or the smell of the tobacco filling the enclosed space. Ahead of them Dinah waited beside Electra. The dining car did not even hold the electric engine's couplings but stood stiffly beside him, occasionally shooting dirty looks at the gold carriage and the diesel engine ahead of the superstar. Electra seemed to be deliberately ignoring the observation car, who returned the favor by gliding her dainty fingers over Greaseball's rippling muscles. Greaseball gave her a smile, and Pearl laid her golden head against his bulky shoulder.

Rusty turned away, and Wrench saw his lips purse beneath his rusted helmet.

Wrench told herself that she did not care. Instead she looked over the blue TGV and his smoker and focused her attention of the glittery head of her megawatt. As she watched him admire his own shining metal, Electra suddenly turned his head, and their eyes met for a brief moment.

The electric engine gave a hint of his wonderful smile and a secretive wink, which she quickly returned.

* * *

The four trains charged up the slope which grew steadily steeper. Greaseball was far up front with the golden Pearl clinging to his couplings, delight on her face whenever she appeared on the monitors. Electra was a few legs behind him, obviously doing better with the experienced Dinah, but he seemed to be pacing himself, waiting for just the right moment to turn on his full speed. The roar of the crowd had long vanished in the rush of wind thundering around them, and the pack climbed higher into the mountains.

" _Here's a surprise_ ," Control suddenly cried with genuine glee, his voice ringing out over the arena. " _Look at that Rusty go!_ "

Wrench clung to the corroded couplings as Rusty effortlessly pulled her past Bobo and his smoking car. Wrench saw over her shoulder that the blue-clad TGV made an obvious attempt to exert himself, but he could not catch up to his rusted opponent. So much for the _Train à Grande Vitesse_.

The crane car looked for a safe place to let go, but the slope was too steep, and Rusty was not close enough to the guardrail for a non-motorized truck to grab hold of it.

 _Just wait_ , Wrench told herself. _Make it look natural_.

At last the slope evened for a several meters only to ascend again. Rusty took advantage of the easier terrain and charged at full speed, coming closer to Electra. The blue helmet turned, and Wrench saw annoyance on the visible part of Electra's face. The red hand flew back, and sparks erupted from the superstar's fingertips.

Wrench promptly released the couplings, and Rusty staggered as the electricity hit him. Electra and Dinah shot ahead like a torpedo. Rusty continued to roll forward up the slope for a few seconds before his metal body collided with the guardrail, clanging like a broken bell.

 _Fake an injury._ Always one to take advantage of an opportunity, Wrench wobbled on her wheels, preparing to fall over convincingly - but Rusty pushed himself up from the protective barrier and grabbed her hand, yanking her forward as Bobo started to gain on them.

"We can do this!" the steamer shouted to her.

Wrench cursed herself as she lowered her head to avoid his smoke - and that gave her idea. All she had to do was wait for another level area and let her eyes be temporarily damaged. Then no one would accuse her of cheating if she happened to let go.

 _But after what happened with the caboose, would anyone even believe Rusty if he accused me?_

Wrench ignored the brief stab of guilt that thought produced - it was either her or him.

Rusty caught up to Electra. Wrench waited with bated breath, half hoping Electra would send another bolt of his lightning their way, but the steamer suddenly swerved to the left, taking the track furthest from the electric wires. He picked up speed, soon passing the electric superstar.

Wrench looked her shoulder and jerked a nod which she hoped Electra could see before she faced front.

Then she saw the bridge. _Perfect_ , she thought with grim determination.

Greaseball soared ahead of the pack, but Rusty steadily gained on him, soon soaring beside his precious Pearl. The grade beneath their spinning wheels became more level as the track ran toward the bridge.

Wrench raised her head just the tiniest bit. Then a little more. She could always tell the marshals that she had been trying to look ahead for safety reasons.

The bridge was meters away now. Slowly, she unhooked her thumbs from the couplings. Then her two little fingers.

She raised her head an inch more.

The trestle loom closer. She noticed the top of the structure was connected to wires and metal rods, showing it to be a mechanical novelty. Was it the same bridge C.B. the caboose had kept Rusty from reaching in the Christmas race?

She heard sparks of electricity behind her, and the sound of familiar wheels was closing in. It was now or never.

Rusty finally pulled even with Greaseball, putting Wrench beside Pearl, and the four sets of wheels clattered as they ran onto the trestle. Wrench steeled herself, ready for the pain she would inflict upon her own eyes as she straightened...

...And that was when Greaseball suddenly spun, turning about face with such a force it uncoupled Pearl, sending her flying ahead down the track, alone. What came next happened in a matter of seconds.

Rusty staggered to avoid the diesel, but Greaseball rammed him into the trestle's beams, sending Wrench with him. Before the crane car could do more than disconnect from her partner, Greaseball turned toward the approaching Electra and shoved him back, uncoupling Dinah from the electric engine before returning to the steam locomotive. Rusty had regained his footing only for Greaseball's fist to collide with his chest, and the steamer let out a yelp as he lurched backwards.

The famous bulldog-nose helmet then turned to Wrench. The repair truck tensed, raising her arms to defend herself.

Greaseball's arm swung out -

\- and Rusty threw himself onto Wrench. The diesel's fist connected with the tarnished helmet, sending an echo of crashing metal reverberating across the mountains. Rusty uttered a cry of pain, slumping against Wrench, but he did not let go of the crane car.

Then, as quickly as it had begun, Greaseball stopped pummeling the steamer and fell to his knees, gripping the guardrail with a convincing look of pain on his features.

" _What happened?_ " Control shrieked. " _I can't see! Who crashed?!"_ Without waiting for an answer, the unseen observer shouted, " _Race canceled!_ _Race canceled! Rerun in fifteen minutes! Head to the downhill course, folks!_ "

* * *

The mechanical bridge shuddered and began to lower with Greaseball, Rusty and Wrench aboard. Wrench could see Pearl still on the high level, peering over the ledge at the three of them, but a track marshal quickly collected her.

Wrench's gaze slid to the other ledge where Electra stood with his blonde dining car. The blue race helmet tilted toward the repair truck. For a moment she wondered if he was displeased - but then a red hand raised to give a subtle thumbs up.

Wrench looked down at the ties of the track, exhaling with relief.

The mechanical bridge jostled as it hit the ground, and Rusty let out a disoriented groan, dropping to all fours. Mechanically, Wrench knelt to touch his shoulder, but her head snapped up at a flash of sudden movement from Greaseball.

The diesel engine tore off his yellow helmet before he rolled off the platform, heading straight to a pair of approaching switchers in track marshal gear. He said something to them, and the track marshals looked at each other in alarm before turning to look at the electric engine above their heads.

"Is that true?" one of the marshals called to the superstar. "Did Rusty do it?"

The blue helmet jerked a nod.

Wrench saw Dinah shoot Electra a glare, and she opened her mouth to protest, but Electra grabbed her arm and pushed away from the edge, out of sight.

Greaseball turned on his front wheels with a smug look at the steamer and repair truck before he headed over to his awaiting gang of diesel engines.

* * *

Wrench could see the audience was being ushered out of their spots to head to the downhill track on the other side of the yard.

Finally, Rusty raised his head. "What happened?" he mumbled, slowly removing his now much more dented helmet.

Wrench grabbed his arm. "Can you stand?" she asked in response.

Rusty grunted, shifting his legs. "Yeah, I think so." It took two tries, but Wrench helped him get to his wobbly wheels, and Rusty stepped off the trussed bridge. They did not get far before the pair of track marshals stepped in front of him.

Rusty raised his head, blinking at the two helmeted men. "I don't need a mechanic, guys," he assured them with a pained smile. "I can race."

The two marshals looked at each other, and they seemed uncomfortable. Finally, the one on the right said, "Sorry, buddy, but we just radioed the boss, and you... you're disqualified."

Rusty stiffened. Wrench quickly released him as he took a step toward the two switchers. "What are you talking about, Chainlink?" the steamer demanded.

"I'm sorry, pal," the other track marshal chimed in, shaking his covered head. "You caused the crash, so Control says you can't race."

Wrench took a step back.

Rusty sputtered, "I did not! Couple, Chainlink, weren't you watching?"

"It was hard to see from where we were," the one called Couple admitted.

"Well, didn't _Control_ see the crash?" Rusty demanded, throwing up his hands, nearly losing grip on his corroded race helmet. "He has cameras pointed at almost every angle of this track!"

Chainlink fidgeted. "The security camera aimed at the bridge started to malfunction before the race."

"Did somebody tamper with them?" the steamer challenged.

The marshal's mouth twitched. "Don't make waves, Rusty. The other trains won't like it."

"But Greaseball caused the crash!" the steamer insisted. "You don't have to be scared of him! Just disqualify him, and he won't show his face around here anymore!" He whirled around, facing the repair truck. "Tell them, Wrench! Tell them Greaseball did it!"

Wrench looked away. "Everything happened so fast. Who can say?" she said dully.

Rusty's limbs clanked. "What."

Wrench shrugged. "No point in arguing. That's life for you." She moved away from him, giving a parting nod to the marshals before she said, "Take of yourself, steam train."

In the tail of her eye, she saw him moved toward her. She turned to give him a determined look, and she saw the look of betrayal on his boyish face. His pistons hissed, and he shoved his helmet back under his arm. "I'm not giving up without a fight!" he declared before he pushed his way around the marshals, heading straight toward where Greaseball and the other diesels stood.

* * *

Wrench turned away, preferring not to see the scene about to unfold, and headed off toward the next race course, intending to find her beloved superstar.

She had pleased Electra. She had done her part to help electrics everywhere by refusing to help the competition. Electra would win, and he would reward her - and then maybe, _maybe_ someday he would start to see her as something more than just his mechanic.

...And still she saw Rusty's hurt eyes, staring at her in shock at her betrayal. He would not get refurbished now. It was doubtful that he would be able to work for much longer if the rust kept growing, seeping deeper and deeper into his limbs.

 _But Electra means everything to me_ , she told herself. She touched her face, trying to hold onto the feeling of Electra's lips against her painted cheek. Yet, even as she tried to remember the long-awaited moment of intimacy between her and Electra - tried to hang onto the smell of his cologne and the feel of his warm breath against her synthetic skin - her mind could not push back another memory: Rusty's iron frame covering her to shield her from Greaseball.

Wrench stopped in her tracks, feet away from the tunnel that led to the downhill arena; a chill passed over her even though she could still feel Rusty's warm chest against her, taking each blow meant for her. Electra would have never had done that for his partner, not even for Volta; maybe he would have delivered a punch or shot electricity, but Wrench had never seen him throw himself over Volta to protect his favorite lover.

But Rusty had done it for a woman he barely knew - Rusty who had helped Electra after the superstar's computer had crashed. Rusty who had been willing to help the engine who stole his coach. Rusty who wanted an electric to have a fair chance to race, unaware that the locomotive he had helped would soon plot to cheat him. Rusty who had now lost his chance to be refurbished and who would spend the last few months of his life in rusted agony.

Rusty who deserved so much more than what he got.

 _...What have I done?_

Wrench turned away from the tunnel and charged back down the track toward the abandoned uphill course - and she rounded the bend in time to see Greaseball shove Rusty into the pack of diesels and grab Pearl's wrist, pulling her along with him toward the downhill race course.

Instinctively, Wrench started forward. The diesel did not seem to notice her as he yanked his coach along. "Stop your sniffling," Greaseball ordered the gold observation car as he moved her hands to his belt. "They'll only suspend you if you ever tell."

Pearl seemed close to tears. "This wasn't how I wanted it," she lamented as she reluctantly clung to the diesel's holdings. "This wasn't what I saw."

Greaseball scoffed, and as he turned forward, his eyes finally landed on Wrench. The diesel formed a cruel smirk. "Rust Bucket is all yours, toots," he mocked, flourishing his hand back toward where the steamer stood surrounded by the gang. "At least, what's gonna be left of him." He gave a barking laugh and disappeared into the nearby tunnel.

* * *

Wrench wasted no time hurrying forward. The diesels surrounded the steamer. One man yanked the helmet from Rusty's hands and shoved into the arms of a little flat car with a flat-top hairstyle.

"Now that's just ungrateful, Slow Man," one engine said, loud enough for the approaching crane car to hear. He grabbed Rusty's arm and shoved him into another.

"We try to be nice and give you advice," the one who caught him chimed in, clutching his other arm. Rusty was stuck between them.

"It's really hateful," the flat car agreed, tossing the steamer's helmet into the air and catching it again.

A third engine approached, standing in front of the weaker engine. He pulled arm back -

\- and Wrench charged toward the diesel and swung her arm with all the strength of a work vehicle. A sound of metal, and the diesel groaned and stumbled. She promptly knocked into the engine holding Rusty's left arm captive, causing the diesel to release the steamer. Wrench grabbed Rusty's couplings. The steamer looked surprised to see her, but he recovered quickly and managed to yank his other arm free by first ramming his shoulder into the diesel.

However, before the two could make a break for it, one of the thugs swooped forward, and in a flash the brute sent a punch into Rusty's exposed jaw. Rusty tripped over the engine Wrench had hit, dragging the repair truck with him.

Wrench rolled and used the momentum to get to her knees quickly.

"You should have made tracks, girly," the engine who had punched Rusty leered, flexing his fist.

However, before he could do anything, a voice barked, "Hey, cool it!"

The diesel gang turned in surprise, and Wrench saw it was one of their own who said it. The locomotive standing over Rusty stopped, and he frowned at his comrade. "You heard what Greaseball said, Tank."

"I said cool it, Lube," Tank snarled striding over to him. The oily man stood tall, staring Lube down until his companion moved away from the steamer.

Tank then turned to the fallen Rusty. Though his helmet covered his face, Wrench could see his mouth had become a thin line. "You helped my brother. Stay down, and you can leave. _Capisce_?"

"What!" his companions protested.

Tank whirled around. "Any of you bozos want to take me on right here?" he demanded.

None of the diesels moved.

"Thought so," Tank sneered.

Rusty struggled to get up - and immediately Tank's heavy foot shot out and slammed into the steamer's stomach. "I said stay down!" the diesel ordered as the steamer doubled over with a clank. "Or I'll do worse to your girlfriend."

Wrench tightened her hold on her engine. Rusty sucked air through his teeth, but he did not so much as raise his head again.

"Good boy," Tank said before he jerked his thumb, indicating for the others to leave. "C'mon," he commanded the diesels as he spun on his front wheels. "We got better things to do than watch this loser."

The locomotives reluctantly obeyed, shooting Rusty baleful glares. As the engines started down the track, the flat car with the bricks hesitated and then shoved the helmet into Wrench's hands before he spun and sped after the gang.

* * *

Once the last of the diesels disappeared from sight, Wrench switched her attention to the steamer. "Let me see." She helped him sit up, which revealed a small dent on his belly, but it did not look serious. "How do you feel?" she asked.

"Do I have to answer that?" Rusty grimaced, shifting his weight to a more comfortable position. Then he turned his head, and he regarded her with an odd look.

Wrench averted her gaze. "I'm sorry."

"You came back." He sounded amazed.

"Not that it did much good," she returned flatly. She glanced again at the dent in his middle. "Can you get up?" she asked, more to change the subject.

"Should," he replied, and he climbed to his wheels, grunting. Wrench handed him his helmet and folded her arms.

Rusty looked down at the deteriorated gear, and his eyes grew steely. "Everyone was right," he said quietly.

"Were they?"

Bitterness covered his face. "I tried to fight fair, and the cheaters still won," he spat, pumping his pistons to propel himself forward a few feet. "I was a moron for even entering. This race was nothing but trouble."

"You're right," she said, causing him to brake and look at her in alarm. She gave him a small smile. "It was stupid to think a rusted steamer could win - just like it was stupid to think the reigning diesel champion could be scared that someone like you could beat him." She rolled a little closer. "And you're the only one stupid enough to help an electric engine who stole your coach, and you're the only one stupid enough to help Gook despite all the horrible things he puts you through. So Tank spared you because you were stupid enough to do the right thing when you could."

He seemed to mull that over. "Small victory," he said at last before his eyes narrowed. "But there's no way Control will fix me now. I can't even go out and find different work because nowhere else has fuel." His voice broke a little as he spat out, "I'm never gonna leave this yard."

"Yes, you will," Wrench insisted, rolling up to him and taking his arm. "You can apply to a museum and get refurbished."

"No museum would take me," he said bitterly.

"I'll put in a recommendation letter."

He shook his head. "It would cost too much money for them to consider it."

"Then I'll fix you myself," she said, taking his hand. "I got some money saved, and I can do what I can." Joule had laughed at her for saving so much of her generous paychecks, but now Wrench was glad she had been frugal. "I'll fix you one limb at a time if I have to."

Rusty looked first at the hand holding his and then at her. "You'd do that?" he asked doubtfully. "But you just met me."

"Maybe I'm stupid too." She pressed his fingers for emphasis.

He stared at her, seemingly unable to believe his artificial ears, but slowly a new warmth appeared in his hazel eyes. He did not squeeze her hand back, but he did not pull away either.

Suddenly, a voice shouted in the distance, causing them both to jump. "Rusty!"

Wrench turned to see Poppa McCoy charging toward them, moving as fast as his old limbs could carry him - which was surprising considering his age. "Rusty, what are you doing down here?" the older engine demanded, frowning at his grandson. "Don't you have a race to run?"

Rusty stepped away from Wrench, removing his hand. "Can't. Control disqualified me."

"Why should that stop you?" his grandfather countered. "You got into that final fair and square."

"Control has spoken," Wrench returned, folding her arms. It was probably too late to change her witness statement, she thought ruefully.

Meanwhile, Rusty grimaced in agreement. "And the race track's sealed off by security, Poppa."

The old man put his weathered hands on his hips. "You're a switch engine, ain't ya?"

Rusty's brow furrowed - and then his eyes lit up. "That's it! Poppa, you're a genius!" He spun toward Wrench, excitement brimming. "Wanna try again?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Even after what Control said?"

His smile shifted into his goofy grin, but confidence shone on his face, making her heart flutter. "Worth a try." He held up a friendly fist.

She hesitated, thinking again of Electra - but then her eyes trailed the sooty features, which held so much kindness even in the face of adversity, and she made her decision. She bumped his knuckle, briefly connecting her wheels with his. She returned his grin, even though she did not understand what being a switch engine had to do with getting into the race, but if anyone deserved to compete in the rerun, it was Rusty. "Of course." She took his couplers and thought it prudent to add, "If for some reason you don't win, you can still impress people with second place. Museums would stretch every last donated dollar to have you on their roster."

"Nice to know, but they're gonna get the new champion," Rusty declared, and as soon as Wrench coupled with him, he set off at full speed down the line.

xxxx

A/N: Technically, in the London revamp, I believe Pearl discovering that Greaseball is a jerk comes after Rusty gets beaten up by the diesel gang, but I think the reverse (which gets used in at least the Las Vegas production) worked better for the flow of this narrative.

Special thanks to Belle Pullman for her hand in this chapter with the choreography of the show. A shout out to Dyanarosejl and her website, The Midnight Train Crossing, and the novelization she wrote for the London show.

The bit about Poppa wondering if diesels are nasty because of their oil temperature is partly based on an anecdote from Kenneth Copeland's _Racism in the Church_ where one of America's more famous black military leaders had had trouble in his youth with the local white kids. His father told him that white kids were mean because their white skin was poor protection against the sun, and they were nasty from getting overheated. After that, whenever the white kids teased him, he would ask them if they needed a drink of water and would try to be nice to them, and in the end he made friends with the white children since he responded in love rather than hate.


	6. Chapter 6

"Stay close," Rusty advised, but it was unnecessary. Wrench was not about to stray away from the rusted switcher as they navigated this area of the yard.

It had been years since Wrench had been a maintenance truck working alongside switch engines, and she had forgotten just how many short cuts switchers seemed to know - and how many involved going off track. "Great way to get away from locos," Rusty explained as he led Wrench past a waist-high forest of pines. The two partners hopped over a narrow stream, swung themselves over three guardrails, and scaled a short trussed structure just to get to the staff entrance to the downhill arena. Rusty's limbs creaked from rust and bits of coal fell out of his tender, nearly hitting Wrench in the face, but he moved with an obvious experience, and the repair truck had no doubt he had ducked down these paths to hide many times in his life.

 _They don't show this stuff on T.V._ , Wrench thought as they crouched behind a lattice railing. From here she could see the tunnel which the finalists would use to enter the arena.

"Hope I got enough water for this," Rusty muttered before he turned to Wrench. "Okay, we just have to wait until the others get into the tunnel, and then - " He broke off, ducking his head, and Wrench followed suit.

She peeked through the latticed beams and saw the bulky form of Greaseball skating down the nearby hill with his miserable-looking golden coach in tow. No sooner had they disappeared did Wrench pick up the sound of several vehicles moving together in a trainset, and she turned in time to see the illuminated form of Electra and his cars rolling in from the electric lines.

Wrench felt her stomach clench.

Electra braked unexpectedly, and Dinah disconnected from him while the components encircled the engine, dealing with whatever issue the superstar had suddenly noticed. Wrench ran a self-conscious hand over the scar beneath her cropped wig. If she focused, at this distance she could feel the signals emitting from the other five pieces of the advanced computer...

Wrench shook her head, shifting closer to her partner. As she watched, Electra finally shrugged off his doting components and rolled over to offer his couplings to Dinah, but the dining car glared at him. She said something that Wrench could not hear, but Electra looked insulted. He spun to face her, and the two started to argue.

Suddenly, Dinah's arms came out and shoved the electric engine away. "If that's how you're gonna treat me, I'm gonna disconnect you!" she shouted at him, her accented voice reverberating off the surrounding rock formations. She spun on her wheels and flounced off with all the summoned dignity of a scorned Southern belle.

Electra managed to keep his footing, and his hands sparked with electricity, but Dinah was already out of range. "Who cares?!" Electra yelled after her. "Dining cars will make you wait forever!"

Volta rolled closer to the engine then, but Electra jerked away from his freezer.

He stopped suddenly as if spotting something in the distance. "Hey, buffet!" he called out. "Wanna race?"

Wrench looked and saw Bobo rolling toward the race track with his smoking car in tow, and behind Ashley was hitched a brunette buffet car decked in yellow. Wrench recognized her as the coach that had raced with Espresso in the first heat. At Electra's call, the yellow buffet car unhitched and slowed. "Me?" she asked sweetly, touching her brown hair in a flirtatious manner.

Electra jerked a nod and pointed to his couplings. "Make it quick. Make it now or never," he ordered.

The buffet altered her course and skated up to the electric, giving him a coquettish smile. "Electricity always gives me a charge," she purred, hitching on before Electra started off toward the race track.

"Wow," Rusty breathed beside the repair truck.

 _His entire career rests on this night, and he still won't take Volta_ , Wrench observed, eyeing the elegant freezer who watched her lover skate away with yet another replacement. For the first time in many a moon, Wrench felt a twinge of sympathy for the pretentious wagon.

She took a deep breath and shut off the receiver of her computer piece. Instantly, the faint signals from the nearby trucks went silent.

"Let's go," Rusty whispered as the four components headed off to where they could spectate the race, leaving the area empty. Wrench nodded and coupled herself to his belt, and he started forward, and she saw his hand rise to cover his brown head, smothering the smoke that happily streamed out.

 _He just has to win second_ , she continued to repeat in her head. _He just has to win second_. She glanced up at the dark sky above. Against the light pollution from the artificial lampposts that lined the way to the arena, a few stars managed to wink back at her. Wrench had never considered herself a religious van, but at that moment she found herself wishing upon the brightest speck.

The two stopped outside the tunnel, crouching low. The three racers and their partners faced front. Wrench glanced at the back of Electra's painted head and swallowed, feeling her gut twist. _What am I even doing?_

All of a sudden, Rusty's free hand came back and enclosed itself around her fingers, giving a slight squeeze. Her dark eyes shot to him in surprise, and he quickly resumed his previous position, holding tight to his chimney to keep the smoke from billowing out, and she saw his ears turn pink.

Wrench felt a smile tug upon her mouth, and she tightened her hold on his belt.

* * *

" _In track one, Greaseball and Pearl!_ " Control introduced the racers, and Wrench saw the diesel start forward from the tunnel with the unhappy carriage in tow. "... _In track two, Bobo and Ashley! ...In track three, Electra and... Carriage change! Carriage change! Electra and Buffy!_ "

As the superstar and his yellow companion waved to the applauding audience, Rusty gave Wrench the thumbs up, and she gave his couplings a squeeze. He started off after Electra.

" _Earth, water, air, fire_ ," Wrench heard Rusty hum under his breath, as if he were trying to keep himself psyched and focused.

They emerged from the tunnel behind the racers, who had begun to roll along the loop of the track, heading toward the large mechanical bridge that awaited to deliver them to the top of the downhill track.

Suddenly Control spoke. "Rusty, what are you doing?" he demanded from a single speaker as the steamer came near.

Rusty picked up speed, and Wrench moved her legs to aid him along. Almost to the bridge.

"Hey, marshals!" Control ordered. "Stop Rusty!"

Immediately, two track marshals in yellow jerseys changed direction and started toward the steamer. However, the rusted racer easily kept ahead of the switch engines - although Wrench thought the marshals did not seem to be using their full speed to catch their coworker.

A cheer rose up among the crowd, who seemed to be enjoying the show. Within moments, Rusty skated up the bridge and positioned himself beside Electra.

A flash of sparkling gold caught Wrench's eye, and she looked over in time to see Pearl smiling prettily at Rusty - before Greaseball pulled her closer to him.

Beside the blue TGV, the brunette smoking car gave a sickened look. "Rusty, go home," she pleaded.

"You might get hurt again," Electra's new buffet car cautioned, but Rusty ignored both coaches and grabbed hold of the bridge.

Wrench risked glancing at Electra, and she saw his blue eyes staring icily back at her through the holes of the blue helmet. The repair truck moved closer to the warmth of her steamer.

The track marshals neared the trestle, but Wrench thought they were moving slower now. Suddenly, a nearby voice shouted out, "Rusty's gonna race in the final!" The cry engendered whoops from the speaker's companions. A few others began to repeat it. "Rusty's gonna race in the final! Rusty's gonna race in the final!"

Control gave an aggravated growl, but the rolling stock just cheered louder. The unseen coordinator seemed to change tactics. " _In track four, Rusty with Wrench_ ," he said with reluctance. " _Let's get this show on the railroad._ " In the next second, the bridge rocked and hummed, and the other racers were obliged to grab hold of its beams as it began to rise past tracks and guardrails to the upper levels. Within moments the bridge soon lodged itself between two ledges, and the four racers and their cars moved to position.

Wrench stood beside Buffy as Rusty pulled up to the starting line. Bobo and Electra, the two electric vehicles, slipped on their helmets, and their pantographs extended to connect with the overhanging wires. Electra faced forward, but Wrench was sure she heard a crackle of electricity from his clenching fist. Greaseball and Rusty donned their helmets as well, and a steady and determined stream of smoke rose from the dusty chimney, and the scent tickled Wrench's nose.

 _Well past the point of no return_ , she thought.

A siren rang out, and Control began the countdown. The racers crouched in preparation.

" _Four... Three... Two... One!_ _Trains gone!_ "

* * *

Wrench had long ago upgraded her wheels to match Electra's speed, but now they seemed ready to fly off their spokes as gravity and mechanical effort worked together to propel the partners downward.

Electra had the lead in seconds with Bobo close enough to touch the buffet car. Rusty ducked around Greaseball and chased after the two electric trains. Within moments he was beside Bobo. His arms pumped harder, and he begun to pull even with Electra.

" _Something is holding the champion back_ ," Control observed in confusion.

There were no monitors in this area, and Wrench risked looking back at the struggling diesel. Meters behind, he seemed to be exerting more effort than his speed suggested, and as he fell further behind the rest, Wrench got a good look at his wheels - and the wheels of his partner and the designer toe stop that dragged with deliberation behind the blonde carriage.

Greaseball seemed to notice the problem as soon as Wrench did. He reached back and knocked away the pretty hands, and Pearl wobbled, shrieking.

" _He's uncoupled Pearl! Oh, no! We have a runaway!_ "

Rusty braked so hard his wheels screeched. The electric racers zoomed ahead, but the steamer made a sharp turn, and Wrench lost her grip as the engine zoomed back up the hill. Wrench grabbed the handrail in time, and she watched as steamer and diesel passed each other, not even acknowledging the other's presence.

Pearl tried to brake, but the downward momentum caused her to spin out of control. She screamed, flailing her arms as she came close to the edge of the ledge, but no sooner had she started to tip over the guardrail that Rusty grabbed her arm, swinging her away. He steadied her, allowing her to clutch the guardrail for protection, and whirled around again, charging back down the hill.

" _That WAS courageous!_ " Control shrieked with admiration as Rusty zipped down the slope. He braked briefly for Wrench, who grabbed his holdings, biting back the bile at his foolish behavior as he started again.

Did he know that stunt might have cost him the championship?

 _Of course he does_ , she thought as the steamer's chugging picked up its former speed. _That's why he is so wonderful_.

" _The champion's racing solo! That's not allowed_ ," Control observed above their heads. " _The rules say he has thirty seconds to find a partner_."

Wrench looked ahead. Greaseball, now freed from the weight of Pearl, plunged down the slope like a bullet, and Wrench saw he had his sights set on the wooden lady clinging to Bobo's belt. The French train did not even get a chance to turn his head before Greaseball's fist smashed into his chin. The power car staggered, and his brightly polished helmet clattered against the rock formation as Greaseball grabbed the smoking carriage. The TGV's " _chouchou_ " did not even protest as Greaseball guided her brown-silk hands to his belt.

" _Greaseball takes Ashley, and Bobo's out of it!_ " Control crowed.

Rusty sailed past the fallen Frenchman and chugged ahead, gaining more and more on the other two engines.

" _Can anyone take the electric superstar? Can the champion come back?_ "

Rusty pulled even with Electra. The electric engine raised a red hand which suddenly sparkled with blue electricity. Rusty ducked, and Wrench followed suit. The burst of electricity flew over their heads - right at Greaseball.

" _Electra zaps the champion!_ "

The diesel staggered, obviously attempting to keep his wheels on the rails, but they kept slipping onto the ties beneath. His wooden smoking car, who had not been affected the same way by the electricity, made a visible effort to help him right himself, but her antique arms did not have the strength to steady a several ton locomotive.

Rusty pulled ahead, and Wrench heard a shout and the sound of metal clanking behind her. She did not turn to look, but as the monitors above the approaching audience drew closer, she could see Greaseball and Electra were wrestling behind Rusty. Electra seemed to be trying to throw the diesel off him, but the bulkier engine seemed to be struggling to stand by himself, now causing Electra to swerve with him.

Suddenly, the buffet car and the smoking car uncoupled from their engines, who stumbled over a junction and zoomed off down a branch line into the darkened hills beyond.

" _They're outta control!_ " Control screeched. " _They're gonna crash!_ "

Wrench felt her heart leap inside mouth - but she held onto the steamer.

Rusty continued pumping his arms, and the sloping ground evened out at last. Wrench looked ahead again - and there was the track marshal with the checkered flag.

In the next blink, Rusty chugged right over the finish line.

" _Rusty is the champion!_ " Control screeched with excitement. " _Against all the odds, Rusty is the champion! Rusty for a lap of honor!_ "

The audience erupted in cheers for their new hero, and Rusty tore off his helmet, punching the air. Wrench raised a hand, a smile splitting her white face. Her mechanical heart fluttered with both artificial adrenaline and victory.

He had done it.

 _They_ had done it.

Rusty coasted to a stop, and she released his holdings as he turned to her, his face as bright as a shooting star. Suddenly, his eyes shifted, and he looked back toward the track above their heads. Urgency appeared on his face. "I must find Pearl," he said, giving her arm a distracted pat. "I must find Pearl."

He spun away and took off up a hill, disappearing down what must have been a switcher shortcut.

* * *

The night breeze sent more ripples across the surface of the slow river as Wrench leaned against the lattice guardrail. Half an hour had passed since the race finished, and this section of the yard remained closed to both public and press, which Wrench appreciated. She did not feel like answering interviewers on her own.

She held a few stray pieces of gray ballast and flicked one into the water, watching the mirrored lampposts do a sudden jerky dance. Distorted movement in the water's reflection caught her eye. Wrench looked up. A train of diesel switchers and repair trucks were guiding the dented, limping figures of Greaseball and Electra down the track toward the repair shop.

Both ex-champion racers were bent over, hanging onto the switchers for support. Greaseball and his blue dining car were in front. The blonde carriage rolled beside her engine, patting and caressing his arm, all memories of their bad break-up seemingly forgotten. Then came Electra and his switcher with Volta skating alongside Electra's repair trucks. Purse and Joule took up the rear and were whispering to each other with dark expressions.

Wrench watched numbly. She wondered why it had taken the maintenance team this long to transport two wrecked engines. Her heart went out to the dejected Electra - even as she reflected that he would never speak to her again.

Electra suddenly stumbled, and the repair trucks rushed up to him. The electric engine did not respond to them. He looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him up.

As Wrench watched, Volta skated forward and managed to get beside her engine. She seemed to whisper something in his ear. Then Volta planted a kiss on his dented cheek.

Electra raised his head and regarded her for a long moment, oblivious to the repair trucks who were gently nudging him forward. Suddenly, he straightened, ignoring the diesel switcher despite his obvious limp, and skated forward, now with new energy in his jerky movements.

 _I'm forever going to be a pariah on my own home railroad._ Wrench tossed another ballast piece into the water below. Not that it was something she wasn't already used to, but when she had been a mere work truck, she could grit her teeth and find comfort among the other diesel-burning crane cars of her family. Then when she had become a real mechanic at last, she could tell herself that she had graduated top of her class and held the computer piece of the electric champion, but now...

...Where did she go from here?

"Wrench."

The crane car started, whirling around. Since she had turned off the receiver of her computer piece, she had not detected the signal emitting from Krupp as the male coach had come close to her. The armaments truck stared at her now with an unreadable expression. In his hands was her work helmet.

Wrench tensed, clenching the ballast pieces in her hand. "Have you come to tell me I'm fired?"

"Does it even need to be said?" he asked before he extended the helmet.

Wrench did not move.

Krupp scoffed. "If I wanted to leave you lying on the track leaking oil, I would have done it already." He held out the helmet further.

Wrench finally accepted it and tucked it under her arm. It was a standard part of crane cars, a red boom that wrapped over the protective spherical covering that had been painted to resemble blue sky and clouds.

"I'll make arrangements to return my computer piece as soon as possible," she said, her electronic voice flat. Was it possible to restore her vocal chords to her original sound? Could she afford to dip into her savings for that procedure now that she did not have a wealthy employer?

Krupp stepped closer. "I would think," he said, his own electronic voice sounding gruff, "that you'd be out celebrating with your new boyfriend."

Wrench gave him a cold look. "Guess I'm all celebrated out for the night."

Krupp's gray lips became a thin line. "I suppose you got the last laugh," he said. "The diesel truck who the electrics hated is now the coach of the steam champion."

Wrench looked away. "I'm not his coach." She hesitated before addressing the elephant on the track. "What happens to Electra?"

Krupp scoffed. "He'll learn from this and improve," he said, gripping the railing. Krupp looked down the river. Electra and the repair trucks had disappeared around the bend, but no doubt the armaments truck sensed the electric engine in the distance. "As much as I would like to blame this on you," he said tightly, "I know he made the decision to try to shock the competition without checking his surroundings. The boy brought this upon himself."

Wrench winced. The electrics would not be too thrilled that all the money they had given up for his cause had now gone to waste.

Silence fell between them, broken only by the slow movement of the water below. Finally, without even looking at her, Krupp asked, "Was it worth it, Wrench?"

Wrench gritted her teeth but did not respond.

To her surprise, Krupp removed his sunglasses. He looked down at them as if inspecting them for smudges. "When I left Germany," he said slowly, "I thought there wasn't much left to live for."

Wrench rose an eyebrow. Krupp rarely spoke about his life from before Electra. "What made you leave?"

Krupp gave a bitter scoff. "Hard to see a bright future when your wife leaves you for some engine," he answered, "or when she takes your son away."

Wrench's head snapped up. "You have a son?"

" _Ja_." He held his sunglasses up toward the light, and his green eyes narrowed. "Spezi would be about eight now - but that was a lifetime ago," he said dismissively, yet Wrench thought his electronic voice sounded gruffer than normal. "I came here to find a new life, and I joined the Superstar Project."

That explained a lot about his attitude toward Electra. "I'm sorry you had to go through that."

"I'm not." He slipped his shades back upon his face. "If I hadn't married that two-timing dining car, I would have never gotten my son. If she hadn't left me, I would never have come to America and gotten my other son." He finally turned to face her. "So, if you threw away your career for some steam man, I hope you find something in your future to make it all worth it."

Wrench looked down at her hands which had now formed red fists around the railing. She had gotten them painted that very shade to match Electra's design. She had spent her own money on a custom wig to please him. All that effort to gain just one kind look from her electric superstar had now gone to waste, and for what? A steamer hung up on some blonde? Yet another man who favored a feminine woman over a muscular work truck?

... A decent soul that would have been destroyed if she had done nothing?

Wrench took a deep breath. "I did the right thing," she finally said. "Electra will bounce back from this. He has you and the others. But Rusty didn't deserve to be sabotaged."

An image flashed across her mind - Rusty's desperate expression as he went off to search for Pearl. No doubt he had found her by now. The first-class coach surely would have little objection to returning the amorous attention of the world champion who had saved her life - and Wrench had made it all possible.

She swallowed against the bile. "I did the right thing," she said hollowly.

Krupp made a soft sound before he pushed off the railing. He gave her a brief nod. "I wish you well, Wrench, whatever Fate has in store for you." With that, he turned without a final look and headed off down the track.

* * *

"I'm so glad you're okay, Pearl," Rusty said yet again as they moved further from the chatter of Poppa and the other rolling stock discussing steam conversion.

"I'd be a lot worse if it weren't for you," Pearl said shyly, gazing at the back of his head. Without his cap or helmet hiding it, his reddish-brown hair looked messy and damp with sweat - but Pearl could not think of time he had ever looked more handsome to her.

She had come close to confessing her newly discovered feelings for him - but then Poppa McCoy had shown up with half the yard, looking for the two of them, and that had kind of killed the mood. Now, Rusty pulled her toward his shed for the celebatory party that Poppa had long planned for him, scraping together what little money the two steamers had to make something enjoyable for the new champion - and there was no other rolling stock in sight.

 _Just tell him how you feel_ , she told herself, but her mouth felt like cotton. What could she even say to him after all she put him through?

" _Well, Rusty, I know I broke your heart, and I guess I'm not too good at keeping love alive for long..._ " Ugh, no!

" _Next time you fall in love, it'd better be with me - or else!_ " Definitely not.

" _I see you when you're looking lonely, and I hope that everything's alright -_ " No, no, no!

Finally, she decided upon an approach and drew in a deep breath. "Rusty... can I say something?" Rusty came to a stop, giving her a curious look - and she almost lost her nerve, but Pearl clasped her hands together, summoning any amount of courage she could. "I was... wrong. About everything."

"There's nothing to forgive," Rusty said tenderly, but Pearl shook her head.

"You could have not even entered the race because of me," she whispered. She swallowed at the thought. "I really believed Electra was someone I could trust my heart with, but that was a mistake." She gathered her strength and raised her blue eyes to meet his hazel ones. "I thought I found the answer, but it was wrong."

He gave her a sympathetic look. "Is that why you left Electra for Greaseball?"

She gritted her teeth. "Well, he did say mean things about Dinah," she said darkly. Electra had become significantly less attractive once he started insulting the vehicles who were important to Pearl.

"And you went with Dinah's boyfriend?" he questioned. It was not judgmental, but it made Pearl wince.

"It was just for fun - but I wish I hadn't." Her cheeks burned at the memory - and her heart chilled as she recalled Greaseball's thinly veiled threats when he had warned her not to report him sabotaging the race. To think how many of her girlish daydreams he had been the dashing hero in! She looked at her hands. "Looks like you didn't need me after all. Some friend I turned out to be."

His eyes softened further. "We'll always be friends, Pearl."

He seemed to mean it, and that made Pearl relax. Maybe he would not laugh at her if she told him what she felt. "I'm glad you won the race. You deserved it," she began. _Great start, Pearl!_ "And now you can get refurbished and look so..." _Handsome_ was what she wanted to say, but her tongue cleaved to the roof of her mouth.

"Not like me?" Rusty chuckled.

"No! I mean, yes!" she stammered. "I mean, you'll be better now! The way you were meant to be before Control let you get rusted."

"Yeah," he agreed, and he looked down at his arm. A strange look crossed his face. "You know, Wrench said she was going to help me." His voice softened in a way that Pearl did not relish. "It was after I was disqualified. She didn't have to help me at all, but she promised she'd get my rust removed. You'd like her," he added. "She's really nice."

Her face fell. "Well," she said with difficulty, "looks like you won't need her to get fixed now that you're the champion. Control will use his own repair trucks on you."

"Maybe." He grimaced, knitting his brow. "But I think I'd like to leave this yard if I can. Maybe apply to a museum or a tourist line. Somewhere different than all this," he said, waving his arm around toward the mountainous terrain and mechanical tracks.

Pearl looked at him in alarm. "You don't have to leave," she insisted. "Control will have to give you a better job now. And a better shed. You'll be living like a king now."

"Maybe," Rusty said flatly, stepping away from her and looking at their surroundings, "but I think I'm ready for something new."

"Maybe... I could..." _Go with you_ was what she had intended to say, but before her clenched throat could form the sounds, Rusty suddenly stopped on the track.

"Oh, hey! There's Wrench!" he cried, pointing up ahead toward a fork. The left line split off and headed alongside the river, and a familiar woman stood beside the guardrail. Pearl looked back to Rusty and saw that his face had lit up like a Christmas tree. "Wait here," he charged her before he spun on his wheels - a little too quickly for Pearl's taste - and zoomed toward his race partner.

A strange hollowness swept through Pearl as she watched her dream train roll toward another woman.

 _...Have I left it too late?_

* * *

Wrench raised her head at the sound of rusted pistons. Despite her glum mood, she could not stop the sudden increase of her heartbeat as her eyes met the sooty face that beamed at her -

\- But the sight of the golden observation car just up the track certainly brought her back to reality.

She slipped on her crane helmet. "I see you found her all right," she said in greeting.

Rusty slowed. "Yeah, it's lucky Greaseball didn't kill her." Anger contorted his happy features for a moment. "At least nobody will worry about him now."

"Yeah," Wrench answered. "Steam is the new-old thing now, isn't it?"

"You don't know the half of it!" Rusty returned, his eyes widening. "Poppa's been talking to some of the engines, and they're interested in converting to steam - even Greaseball might do it!"

"Then how the reindeer loved him," Wrench said, causing him to laugh. _At least he's alive - and will be that way for years to come._ "Looks like you've come up in the world, Slow Man."

"Thanks to you," he beamed. Warmth flooded his hazel eyes. "I couldn't have done it without you, Wrench."

The crane car turned away. "Don't make it too mushy, buddy boy. You have to think of your image now that the papers are gonna want you on the front page."

"I... hadn't thought about that," Rusty mumbled, moving beside her. "I guess that's something you know about, being with a superstar and all." His tone suddenly changed to concern. "Oh, yeah, I shoulda asked, but is Electra okay? That was a nasty crash."

Wrench shrugged. "I'm sure his next mechanic will help him out."

She heard him start. "He fired you?" the steamer gasped.

Wrench shrugged.

"...Was it because of me?" he asked.

Wrench turned toward him, feigning indifference. "It was a lot of things," she lied.

Fire lit his eyes. "That was a rotten thing of him to do," he said. "He lost because he zapped Greaseball. He might have won if he had played fair."

"What's done is done. No point crying over it," the crane car said briskly. The last thing she needed was for him to start feeling sorry for her while his precious Pearl watched.

The steamer's face became etched with self-reproach. "You coulda just told me, Wrench," he said. "I woulda asked one of the Rockies to go with me."

"It was my choice," she said firmly before she gave him a half-smile. "If more railroads had trains like you, we might actually have a brighter future."

"But where will you go?"

Wrench leaned against the guardrail. "I'm sure somewhere need mechanics. I won't be living adjacent to a mansion anymore, but I'll find somewhere that gives me a shed that doesn't leak," she added, glancing up at the few stars which still stubbornly shone.

"You... You could be my mechanic."

Wrench looked at him, and the steamer ducked his head, seeming to be interested now in his rusted feet. "I mean, I'm gonna get refurbished now," he said quickly, "and so I'll need advice, and - and I think I can trust you, and we're gonna be on the victory tour for two weeks anyway, and - and -"

Wrench touched his arm, stopping his stammering. "I'd be honored," she said, meeting his hazel eyes. "I can't ask for a better boss."

He gave a shy, but relieved, smile. "Well, the railroad needs more trains like you too." Then the pink appeared, and he rolled his shoulders. "C-C'mon, might as well find the others now. Poppa wants to celebrate, and I can't do it without my partner, can I?"

"I wouldn't expect you to," Wrench smirked, taking his couplings, and Rusty pulled her back toward Pearl. The observation car reluctantly hitched up behind Wrench, seeming not too thrilled to have another woman literally between her and the engine, but she said nothing.

As Rusty pulled them toward a part of the yard Wrench had not yet seen, the crane car had time to find a new silver lining in her circumstances. Not only did Wrench have a job with the new champion, Rusy had reminded her of the victory tour. As his partner in the final race, Wrench would be traveling across the country with him for two weeks - while Pearl would still be back in Wilton Yard. The repair truck planned to use that fortnight to her full advantage.

She gave his couplings a subtle squeeze. _If you want him, Pearl, you've got competition_.

THE END

xx

A/N: Special thanks to Tuva for being my beta reader. :D


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